“How many times do you think you were in love in your lifetime?”
She appreciated the small talk. It distracted her from the wires and machinery. From the sterile smell and the sound of squeaky shoes in linoleum corridors.
She didn’t hesitate. “Two.”
“Ok, so Bill was one. Who was the other?”
She placed a pale hand on her friend’s still pink one. Yes, they were both the hands of old women, but the difference between them now was stark.
She didn’t want to pass over with any regret. She wanted her final thought to be a good one.
“You.”
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