The Olivia R. Smith Foundation

I frayed the edges of my papers with my right hand as my left pulled the mic up to meet my mouth. One quick swallow to wash away the lump in my throat. I’m ready. “I awoke in a cold sweat that night. That had been happening a lot at the time. I turned in the wooden throne in which I’ve slumbered recently with an outstretched arm only to, once again, be saddened by hitting the arm of this chair instead of my love. “She had been kept overnight for three straight nights for treatment at...