ADVERTISEMENT
was supposed to be watching them had simply left.
“Are you all right?” Margaret asked. “You sound strange.”
“I just woke up from surgery,” I said.
Silence on the line. Then, quietly, “Oh, Whitney.”
I counted eight beeps on the heart monitor mounted above my bed. Then I called my mother.
My name is Whitney Walsh. I’m thirty six years old, and I have two continue reading …
ADVERTISEMENT