“You can rewrite the story. You just have to pick up the pen.” ~Unknown I remember the exact moment I started disappearing.
It was my wedding day. Just before I walked down the aisle, my mother gently reached for my hand and said, “Your hands are freezing!” She was right.
I was ice-cold. At first, I laughed it off—after all, it was February in Connecticut. Cold hands made sense, right? But that day, something didn’t add up.
We were in the middle of an unusual Indian summer. The air was warm, the sun soft and golden. People were sipping champagne outside without jackets.
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