Chapter 8: The Ghost
Part 8: The Ghost
She didn’t look like a Caldwell anymore.
The designer coat was gone.
The arrogant posture that used to take up the entire room was missing.
She just looked like a woman who was very tired.
She held a paper prescription in her hand.
She looked at me.
I looked at her.
I didn’t flinch.
I didn’t cross my arms.
I just waited.
“I didn’t know this was your pharmacy,” she said.
Her voice was small.
Almost fragile.
“It is,” I replied evenly.
She looked down at the paper in her hand.
Then she placed it on the counter.
I picked it up.
Basic antibiotics.
Nothing dramatic.
Just the mundane reality of getting sick.
I typed her name into the system.
“Eleanor had a stroke last month,” Morgan said suddenly.
The words hung in the sterile air of the pharmacy.
A year ago, that sentence would have shifted my entire world.
It would have required a response.
A strategy.
A defense.
Now, I just looked at the computer screen.
“Insurance approved it,” I said.
Morgan blinked.
“Did you hear me?”
I printed the label.
“I heard you, Morgan.”
I placed the bottle in a small white bag.
“That will be twelve dollars.”
She stared at me.
Searching my face for anger.
For pity.
For anything that meant she still mattered to my story.
She found nothing.
May you like
She paid, took the bag, and walked out into the rain.
And I went back to counting inventory.
