The dawn was a beautiful morning smiling at me. I had just honestly prayed to God for this day to be different from my previous hectic days. Two weeks seemed like two years of agony for me; I was becoming exhausted. I was a twenty-nine-year-old woman feeling like a chastised child and with a headache that refused to disappear with the night. It was a fitting crown for the queen of poor decisions.
I was still rehearsing some speech of apology, I plan to present before my dad concerning my last night misconduct when a soft knock hit my bedroom door that sounded like a gunshot.
“My father? Had he come to finish what he started? I murmured as I went to the door. "Who is at the door?” I replied sharply, my throat raw.
“Millicent?” My mother’s voice, frayed with worry, seeped through the wood
