Then, a strand of hair was placed behind the left ear.
Maggie used to do the exact same thing when she was nervous.
The marker slipped from my hand.
My blood was freezing. It was identical to Maggie.
Lily looked at the mark on the floor and then looked at me again.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
My voice sounded bad.
I squatted down and picked up the marker.
He looked exactly like Maggie.
“Yes. I'm sorry. You must be our student transferred.”
She nodded. “Lily.”
I found him a seat and finished the lesson by sheer muscle memory.
Every time I looked toward the third row, I felt bad.
It was worse than seeing a little girl like Maggie. Seeing Lily was like seeing how my daughter would look when she grew up.
Every time I looked toward the third row, I felt bad.
At lunchtime, I locked myself in a bathroom cubicle and cried heartbackly.
