KAT
Hooray for Democratic Socialism
The spreadsheet swims before my eyes, numbers blurring into abstract art as Baby B—definitely B, he has a distinctive right hook—delivers a kidney shot that makes me gasp. Five months pregnant with triplets means my internal organs have become punching bags for three future alphas who apparently inherited their father's need to dominate space.
"Focus," Sylvia commands from across the conference table, not looking up from her own documents. "The Emerson agricultural assignments won't organize themselves."
She's been living in the double-wide next to ours for three weeks now, transforming what started as a temporary visit into semi-permanent residence. The woman who once ruled Blueridge's marble halls now reviews farm planning documents while sitting
