I leave the pediatrician’s office walking, glance over my shoulder then walk faster, slip into my car and lock the doors deftly, start the engine—catching the man standing frozen in the rearview mirror with his hands hidden: white beard, worn face, vacant expression. I drive far and stop at some parking lot where all the people are and pull my knees to my chest and cry out and believe I escaped something terrible until I don’t anymore and my cheeks are dry and the day is just like any other and the man is only a man and nothing more.
Isabella Miller is an animal lover, a collector of lost things, and an aspiring author waiting to share her words with the world.