I struggled into the office with last night’s mascara clinging to my eyelashes and a stomach heavy with nausea and hungover shame.
On one arm he was balancing the cash drawer, but in his other hand, held high like a flag on a flagpole, were my reindeer undies.
I was assured by the ER doctor that I was not feeling contractions; he said they were simply bladder spasms, due to a bladder or a kidney infection.
I told myself I'm in charge of my life — not my father, not a bruise on my face, not even my sense of hopeless. I told myself I can control my future and my happiness.