My First Love Died on My 17th Birthday — Thirty Years Later, a Young Woman Who Looked Exactly Like Her Appeared at My Door

up burning with fever.

I could barely stand.

When Lily arrived, she found me wrapped in blankets and sweating through my pillow.

She stood in my bedroom doorway wearing a yellow rain jacket, carrying her tackle box.

“You look awful,” she laughed.

“I feel awful.”

She walked over, kissed my forehead, and smiled.

“Don’t die on me.”

Then she held up the tackle continue reading …