MIRA

I hop on my bike, with the envelope in my pocket and faint happiness in my heart. I was finally going to get a few things for the house. It was about time.

The chains on my bike click at about every second spin, the seat wobble whenever I hit a pothole or move faster than I should, and my grocery list was flapping from the basket like it was trying to escape into the wind and go somewhere far.

I wanted to too.

Milk. Bread. Jam. Body wash. Butter. Snacks for Nora. Those were the ...