The third tab showed a bright, clinical landing page for the Cleveland Hair Restoration Center. In the center of the screen was a photograph of a smiling, silver-haired man next to a bold price listing of five thousand dollars.
I stared at the image of the silver-haired man for several seconds while the fan in the laptop hummed against my palms. I rubbed my left collarbone, my thumb tracing the hard edge of the bone through my cotton nightgown.
It was probably just an idle internet search, the kind of random article people click on when they are tired of grading history essays. I clicked the small gray cross to close the tab and gently shut the lid of the laptop.
A sudden draft from the hallway door made me shiver. I pulled my knit cardigan tighter around my chest, but the cold feeling stayed under my skin as I walked back to the sofa.
