MILDRED

FUCKIN' DYSLEXIC

I stood rooted to the spot as I watched Enid flip to the first page of the diary. He peered at my writing and stared at the few words I had written a lot more than it had required me to write them.

"What's this?" He asked after a century of planting his gaze on the pink journal.

He did not know? Was Enid dyslexic? I watched him in riddles as he glanced back at the book.

"It's something, very personal," I replied quietly gawking at him.

He was handsome, very handsome bow his hair was tousled and he was out of his office wear. He was...