M
aggie stood in front of the bedroom’s full-length mirror not wearing a stitch of clothing and hated what stared back at her. Only forty-three and this was what she’d become? What would she look like when she turned fifty? Or sixty?
She rotated her body and scrutinized her profile. Her belly pulled toward the floor, exposing the traces of fourteen-year-old stretch marks. Breasts that were once the envy of classmates and the obsession of most boys, now reduced to two shapeless mounds. She lifted her arms and pinched the flab between her fingers. Depressing. So damn depressing.
Stripped of her clothing as well as layers of eye shadow, mascara, and foundation, Maggie felt n***d in more ways than one.
She ran manicured fingernails through brown, flat morning hair and noticed a few strands
