“Mona stared at the face in the mirror the following morning. Red eyes from weeping, weeping from being angry and afraid and wanting to hide. Beating the bag just made her arms hurt; it used to help her feel better, but now she and Ken were arguing and the kids were terrified and there were no answers. It just kept getting worse and worse. And here she thought she had beaten the depression that had been so debilitating. Pride, that’s what happened. How could they have forgotten that the children... might hear them? She soaked a washcloth in cold water and applied it to her face. While it almost helped, perhaps an ice pack would be more effective. She dipped and wrung out the cloth again, still to no appreciable avail. Water dripped down on her top, reminding her of the call to come back for another mammogram. She’d never had that happen before. She’d done a manual breast check like they taught at the center, but she’d not felt any lumps. Nor pain. Surely it was an error.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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