Emily had just turned twelve. She loved drawing, reading mystery novels, and collecting little beauty products she saw advertised online. When I told her I was visiting, she had asked me to bring her something special.
I had found a small, colorful kit of scented modeling slime that I knew she would love. It was inexpensive, cheerful, and exactly the sort of silly little gift that makes a child smile.
I was holding the package in one hand and my purse in the other when I noticed that the line had stopped moving.
The reason was standing directly in front of me.
She looked about twenty-eight years old. Her blonde hair was so long that it nearly reached her knees, and she held her phone at arm’s length, filming herself while two expensive perfume bottles rested in her other hand.
Her phone case was covered in sparkling letters spelling out BRITTANY.
