My daughter is sick. But I am not?

It started this morning. A shifting in my mind like a veil torn away. A new anxiety replaces an old. Like no longer worrying about becoming impregnated once you are, but fearing what it will do. It doesn’t belong yet it’s a part of you.

The lines on the window appear darker, crisper, blunt while other ones smear bleak and blurry. It seems kind of funny somehow that what once was unchanging can look so different today.

My body aches. It lingers shortly then circles around. My knees. My head. My eyes. My back. Maybe I worked out too hard yesterday.

I’m so tired I could rest forever but there are things to do.

My temperature fluctuates between normal and a little warm. Maybe from sitting in the hot sun I console myself but don’t believe it to be true.

I sniffle, I sneeze, I cough. Just allergies, perhaps?

I decide to get tested. My daughter is sick. But I am not?

Why do I deny the truth? Is it the truth? I’ll know for sure in a couple of days.

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