It's evening and John is due to arrive soon for dinner. I'm still hurt that Willow decided to tell Charlie about the baby. She knows — I've only told her a million times — I want this baby. This baby is mine whether or not we're related by blood. Charlie doesn't need to be involved. This could have been something we kept between us. Kept to ourselves and the family we're making.
My anger shows as I accidentally slam the pan down on the counter, feeling so on edge that every small thing makes me want to snap. The tapping of Willows finger against the table as she stews in her frustrations — from words I probably shouldn't have said — sound amplified, as if there is a mic right beside them. It makes me uncomfortable in my skin, wanting to craw right out of it as I feel so over stimulated I
