“Am I?”
“You’ve slept on the left for 15 years.”
She moved quickly.
“Sorry. I feel a little tired, and it’s causing all this confusion.”
I smiled, but something cold had started to settle in my stomach.
The next morning, I woke to the shower running.
A few minutes later, Alma stepped into the bedroom wearing a towel around her body, her wet hair hanging down her back.
She turned toward the dresser.
That was when I saw it.
Just below her left shoulder blade was a birthmark shaped almost perfectly like a lily.
Dark at the center. Lighter along the edges.
I had spent 15 years beside that woman.
On beach vacations, swimming pools, lazy mornings, sunburns, and massages.
That mark had never been there.
I stared long enough for her to notice.
“What?” she asked.
I pointed.
“The birthmark.”
She frowned. “What birthmark?”
“On your back.”
I handed her the small mirror from the dresser.
She turned toward the larger mirror and angled the smaller one behind her.
The second she saw the mark, the color left her face.
She touched it carefully.
Almost fearfully, like she was as surprised as I was or had forgotten it was there.
“I’ve never had that,” she said abruptly.
