The breeze that blew in through her window was warm. It swept past her face as she peered out from the second story of the clinic. As she'd done many times before, she leaned a hip on the old sill and clutched her coffee cup in both hands. Her eyes roamed the street below, taking stock of the neighborhood she called home, before they swung ( Read more... )

Hope for the best, expect the worst. It's one of the many valuable lessons Leslie has learned over the years. Taught by her father, reinforced by experience. She had hoped the bomb delivered maliciously to the clinic would not be an indication of things to come. Somehow she knew that wouldn't be the case ( Read more... )

Japan is a beautiful country. Or so she's been told. She herself has never visited. Perhaps Bruce will tell her about it over dinner. She used to think of four months as a long time. In terms of his other trips, it's but a blink of the eye. Each time he returns, they gather over Alfred's cooking and speak of the days gone by. Of things ( Read more... )

There isn't any time for tears in the middle of an operation. The brain is focused entirely on the hands. The hands are occupied with the patient. This patient, Leslie knows somewhere in the back of her brain, doesn't have a chance. She's too stubborn though to admit it ( Read more... )