Two Plane Tickets to Savannah and the Sixty Day Marriage Agreement

said.

I opened the passenger door, the cool Ohio wind catching my wool cardigan as I stepped onto the asphalt.

The clinic lobby smelled of rubbing alcohol and peppermint floor cleaner, the quiet hum of a fluorescent light overhead filling the empty room.

Dr. David Evans stood near the reception desk, writing something on a clipboard, his wire-rimmed glasses continue reading …