Heather
25
Heather’s sense-numbing depression faded one evening when her phone emitted a strange-sounding chirp. She rolled over in bed and picked it up from the side table. The skin around her eyes felt puffy and stretched, and fresh pain bored deep behind them. She needed water and fresh air and to get out of bed, but she couldn’t seem to muster it.
A red sunset crept through her window beneath the curtains. Her mom’s slow-cooking rabbit stew permeated the house, each air molecule coated in simmering juices of homemade love and attention.
Heather knew she’d behaved badly, isolating herself in her room and engaging with no one. She’d answered no calls and her cell phone was packed with f*******: notifications and texts that she’d never read.
Poor Mama. She’s grieving, too.
Heather c
