At the Father-Daughter dance, the PTA president mocked my grieving 7-year-old: “Too bad, if…”
The room was enveloped in a silence so heavy it seemed to press against every eardrum, amplifying the softest sounds:
the shuffle of a shoe on polished wood, the barely audible catch of a breath, the distant hum of the chandelier overhead.
It was the kind of silence that doesn’t merely fill a space but…
The room was enveloped in a silence so heavy it seemed to press against every eardrum, amplifying the softest sounds:
the shuffle of a shoe on polished wood, the barely audible catch of a breath, the distant hum of the chandelier overhead.
It was the kind of silence that doesn’t merely fill a space but…
