This is the first story (1 min. read, <600 words) in the Objects as Waypoints series. It’s about a scarf I keep that reminds me of the power of 2nd chances and the kindness of strangers.

♥️

My husband left me on Valentine’s Day in 2014.

It’s not what you think. Yes, he left me, but it was because he had to drive five hours home to tend to an emergency. Which left me at the Cleveland Clinic, alone, for a third day of tests and more overnights.

He was by my side through two blood transfusions, a liver biopsy, and many tests. And now I was without my advocate, my cheerleader.

♥️

The sun shines through the window in my 5th floor room, but there’s no warmth, only long shadows.

Hordes of doctors and residents gather around my bed. Their voices a quiet murmur, but words like Pre-leukemia and Wilson’s Disease get my attention. My heart monitor beeps faster.

I search their faces, their expressions. I want to know what they see, what they think of my extreme yellowness, and what they will do to fix my broken body.

They exit en masse and leave behind a vacuum of silence. Dust motes dance in the cold sunbeams.

♥️

A knock at the door announces a visitor. It’s the staff chaplain come to see if there’s anything I need.