By Peggy P. Parsons
“I look different,” Juhree gasped.
“You are different.” Monteith smiled at her reflection in the mirror.
“No. I mean, look at me. I really look different.”
“You look like the woman I love.”
“My freckles are gone,” she blurted.
“And you didn’t notice until now?”
“No. When did it happen?”
“They started fading the day you arrived and were gone before you started working in the first constat.”
“I had them all my life. I didn’t think they would ever go away.”
He touched her cheek, his fingers gentle. “My homeland’s environment was responsible.”