Chapter 1 — The First Prescription

Cora

The soft chime of the pharmacy door broke the steady rhythm of Cora’s motions. She’d been wiping the counter near the entrance, a habit she’d developed during lulls in the day to keep her hands busy and her mind from circling back to things she didn’t want to think about. Her fingers hesitated mid-swipe as she glanced up. The man who entered wasn’t one of the regulars she’d come to know by voice, prescription, or the patterns of their lives.

He walked with deliberate care—not slow, exactly, but precise, as if testing each step. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his dark hair flecked with gray, and his face bore lines that suggested years of hard work. A neatly tucked flannel shirt, well-worn jeans, and scuffed steel-toed boots completed the picture. But it wasn’t his appearance alone that caught her attention. There was something about his demeanor—a quiet steadiness that seemed to shield something heavier underneath, like a structure braced against an unseen weight.

“Good afternoon,” Cora greeted, setting the cloth aside with practiced ease. She adjusted her cardigan out of habit, her fingers brushing against the buttons as she stepped toward the counter. Her flats made no sound against the polished white tile.

The man gave a small nod. “Afternoon,” he replied in a gravelly voice, low and steady, though there was an edge of unfamiliarity in it, as though he weren’t used to exchanges like this. He reached into his pocket, unfolding a prescription with hands that were large and rough, the kind that looked as though they had spent decades solving problems in the physical world.

Cora took the slip of paper, her fingertips briefly brushing his calloused ones. Her eyes flicked down to the familiar details of the prescription: a beta blocker. She knew its implications immediately—a maintenance medication for a heart condition. The professional part of her mind began its automatic calculations: dosage, potential side effects, counseling points. But beneath that, a quieter, more personal thought stirred—an unwelcome whisper of her past. Her chest tightened briefly before she pushed the thought aside.

“Would you like to wait while I prepare this, Mr. …” She paused, scanning the name on the prescription. “Aster?”

“Milo,” he corrected, shifting slightly on his feet. His tone carried a trace of discomfort, as though his last name was a barrier he preferred to do without. “And yeah, I’ll wait.”

Cora nodded and stepped to the workstation behind the counter. The pharmacy was quiet at this time of day—the kind of stillness that made even small sounds feel amplified. The hum of the fluorescent lights mixed with the soft crinkle of the plastic bags she retrieved for the pills. As she worked, her hands moving with methodical precision, she glanced toward Milo.

He had settled into one of the molded plastic chairs by the wall, his large frame making the seat seem too small, almost fragile beneath him. His elbows rested on his knees, hands clasped loosely in front of him. She noticed the faint grease stains near the cuffs of his shirt and the way he adjusted his position slightly, as though trying to ease some discomfort. When he moved, there was the barest flicker of a wince at the corner of his mouth—a small, almost imperceptible crack in the careful restraint he carried.

“You’re new here,” Cora said after a moment, breaking the quiet with a conversational tone. Her attention remained on the pills she was counting, though her voice carried a deliberate warmth meant to put patients at ease.

“Yeah,” Milo replied. “Moved into town a few months ago. Work’s here now.”

She glanced up, her eyes landing again on the grease stains and his scuffed boots. “Subway maintenance, right?” she asked, her tone light but curious.

His head tilted slightly, and for the first time, his deep brown eyes met hers. They were steady but guarded, like a door cracked open just enough to let in light. There was a flicker of something there—surprise or maybe faint amusement. “Yeah. How’d you figure that?”

Cora allowed herself a small smile. “Just a guess,” she said lightly, though her observation had been far more deliberate. She had a knack for noticing details—stains, wear, posture—that told a story most people missed. It was a skill that came naturally and had only sharpened in her years behind the counter.

“Good guess,” Milo muttered, the corner of his mouth twitching in what might have been the ghost of a smile before his gaze dropped again.

Cora returned her focus to the amber vial in her hand, carefully counting out the pills. Her fingers hesitated briefly before she sealed it, and she glanced at Milo again over her shoulder. “Mr. Aster—Milo,” she corrected herself gently. “This medication—it's important to take it regularly. Even if you’re feeling fine.”

“I know,” he said quickly, the words coming out clipped. The faint tension in his jaw caught her attention, as did the way his thumb ran along the edge of his other hand, a nervous habit that seemed at odds with the steadiness he projected.

Cora hesitated, weighing her words. “Sometimes people don’t,” she said, her voice softening. She kept it free of judgment, making it about her role rather than his choices. “It’s my job to make sure they do. Especially with something like this.”

For a moment, Milo said nothing. Then he exhaled slowly, his shoulders shifting under the weight of something unseen. “I’ll take it,” he said finally, his words firmer this time, as though willing them to settle any doubts.

Satisfied, Cora finished labeling the vial and placed it neatly into a small paper bag. She returned to the counter, sliding it across to him with a calm, steady gaze. “If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask,” she said.

Milo lingered for a moment, his hand brushing the edge of the bag before taking it. When his gaze met hers again, there was something different in it—a glimmer of gratitude, exhaustion, or perhaps something rarer. It wasn’t easy to name, but it felt like the kind of acknowledgment that came from someone unused to being noticed.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice quieter now, but no less sincere.

Cora nodded, watching as he turned and walked toward the door. His movements were deliberate, as they had been when he entered, but the weight on his shoulders still seemed wholly intact. She found herself wondering, unbidden, what kind of battles he was fighting—and why he seemed so determined to fight them alone.

The door chimed softly as it closed behind him, leaving the pharmacy in its quiet hum once more. Cora stood for a moment, her hand resting on the counter. She exhaled slowly, catching herself mid-breath as though surprised by it. The faint scent of antiseptic lingered in the air, grounding her in the familiarity of the space.

Her gaze drifted toward the drawer just below the counter—a place where she sometimes kept scribbled notes and thoughts she couldn’t bring herself to share. But instead of reaching for it, she picked up the cloth she’d set aside earlier and resumed wiping the counter. Her motions were steady, as they always were, yet her thoughts lingered on the name she’d read and repeated silently: Milo Aster.

It was a name she wasn’t quite ready to let go of, settling into the quiet of the pharmacy like an echo that refused to fade.