Ronda did not sleep well.
Not because she was afraid of the interview.
That part was over.
She had answered the questions. She had sat beneath those bright lights, listened carefully, spoken honestly, and walked out without wishing she could take any of her words back.
It was the waiting that unsettled her.
She lay on her bed with one arm beneath her head, staring at the ceiling while the fan turned slowly above her. The room was quiet except for the occasional sound of a vehicle passing outside.
She turned onto her side.
Then onto her back.
Then onto her side again.
Her eyes moved toward the phone beside her pillow.
Nothing.
She sighed.
The interview had happened only hours ago.
There was no reason to expect a response yet.
She knew that.
Her mind apparently did not care.
