The Seahorse and The Cougar

It was hard to ignore, this little seahorse-size thing swimming behind her taut abs, threatening to grow into a monster that would make her belly swell. Ruining eight year’s work toward playing in the Women’s World Cup of Soccer.

Cecily jogged past the rows of untrimmed rose bushes in the front yard, jumped the steps and knocked on the lime green door.

“Happy ninetieth, Nana,” she said, reaching forward to kiss the powdery soft wrinkled cheek. “Sorry I’m late.”

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