The Prescotts Thought My Uniform Was Decorative

the rail of her bed.

“Baby, I hate a lot of people tonight.”

She made a sound that was almost a laugh.

Then her fingers found the smear of blood on my sleeve.

“That’s mine.”

“I know.”

“Don’t wash it yet.”

So I didn’t.

I sat there in my dress uniform until dawn came gray through the blinds, with my daughter’s blood drying on my cuff and her blue shoes in an continue reading …