Buried Betrayal on Eight Hundred Acres 34

best.”

The best. The irony tastes like copper in my mouth.

Before I can formulate a protest, a contraction hits. It does not build; it strikes. It rips through my abdomen like a jagged bolt of lightning, severing my thoughts. I cry out, a raw, animal sound, entirely stripped of dignity. I do not care who hears me. I do not care that a dozen nurses are continue reading …