The Surrogate Virgin
If I turned back, I’d lose time and my mother didn’t have time left.
The math was cruel.
I forced myself inside the store, grabbed a basket, and wandered the aisles. I tossed in things we didn’t need, cereal, apples, flour, etc. My movements are mechanical and the groceries were nothing but camouflage, a paper-thin illusion.
Every aisle became a gauntlet. I checked over my shoulder so often I nearly walked into displays. Every laugh, every cough, scraped too sharply against my nerves. By checkout, my hands were trembling.
Outside, the night air bit into my skin as I loaded bags into the trunk. My phone buzzed in my pocket. The sound cracked through me like a gunshot. I fumbled, dropped an ap
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