It was an old cast iron bath with worn and scratched white enamel, probably also original to the house and either late Victorian or Edwardian. It was ... good size, far bigger than the modern plastic bath we had at home. Sian and I washed ourselves, and then she soaped up a flannel and held it out to me."My boobs, remember?"I did remember. It wasn't the most thorough boob wash in history, but from the purring I could hear, it was sufficiently satisfying for her.When she had been soaped all over. She wore tight jeans and a vaguely familiar baggy sweatshirt. Her hair dangled past her shoulders in two wide auburn pigtails. She frantically flailed her head from side to side as she scanned her surroundings. ?Calm down, Monica. You have work to do.? Monica? Monica? I looked closer at the screen just as the girl turned to face the camera. Monica, my one and only child. A piece of packing tape covered her mouth, but her distinct green eyes and purple-rimmed glasses. More

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