Sara Michaels
The anger came slow at first, deep in my chest like a fire someone had forgotten to put out, burning until it spread through every part of me, until I couldn’t breathe around it without feeling the heat.
I walked out of Mom’s room with my legs feeling distant, like they belonged to someone else, each step slower than the last while the doctor’s words kept circling in my head over and over—
“I spoke to your husband about it days ago. He said he’d handle it. He was supposed to notify you”—
and every time they played again my throat tightened more, until it hurt to swallow, until I had to stop in the middle of the corridor and press my hand to the wall just to stay standing straight.
Tom had known. Of course. He is set on making me suffer.
While I cried myself to sleep ev
