We sit amid butterflies and impeccably tended grass each day.

“Tea?” I pour from the cool pitcher on the tray.

She nods, demure. “Two sugars,” she says. “Why haven’t we met before?” She looks up under her lashes. The nurse behind us clucks in sympathy.

“Just bad timing, I guess.”

Delancey Stewart is a fiction writer living in Southern Maryland. When no indulging her imagination, she works for the man as a tech writer and tends two small boys who, her husband assures her, are hers. Find her at delanceystewart.wordpress.com.