He Said My Mother Dying Wasn’t His Problem

a bleach spot near the hem. But it was mine. Was. Dumb thing to care about. I cared anyway.

She crossed her arms. “I think I should go.”

“Yes,” I said. “You should’ve gone yesterday.”

Ryan flinched at my voice, which was strange, because I wasn’t loud. I was tired. Tired has edges.

“Becca, please. Her name is Trish. This wasn’t planned.”

Trish.

A woman named continue reading …