Roman Stories

For Dr Evie Morton, epiphanies usually came when hunched over her desk in the museum basement, not at 3am when her unborn son booted her bladder. She rolled to face the ceiling, mind spinning like the fan, disturbed air barely a whisper against her skin at this distance. Everything fell into place. All the puzzle pieces, the research, the late nights. All connected. Excitement rose. Occam's razor. Pluralitas non est ponen...