The sun was a spotlight through the windshield. I shook my head and blinked my eyes to make sure that what I was seeing was real, to make sure that it wasn't a trick of the light, that I wasn't mistaken. I flexed my fingers on the steering wheel to make sure the hands on it were actually attached to my arms.
Raised veins snaked across the back of my outstretched hands. Sharp lines defined them instead of soft angles. There were age spots where there was once clearly smooth flesh. Wrinkles framed the knuckles, not gently contoured skin. How could these belong to me? These are the hands of an old woman!