AUTHOR
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Stella Adams was not okay!
No, not because she had just seen the boy her daughter was supposed to get married to, fraternizing with another girl - whom she knew was her daughter's friend - in the hospital corridor, when her daughter was practically on what could have been her deathbed.
That, of course, was the least of her worries! It could have been the least of any mother's!
The reason she was standing in the hospital corridor, clutching her two thousand dollars purse to her twice as expensive red dress, sweating profusely - despite the air conditioners mounted in almost every turn in the hospital - with her lips thinned into a straight line and her heels wanting to fail her, was something else.
She knew what was coming.
She knew that the fire Frida had gotten in
