I was in luck, as I found the name T. Peterson in one of the spots. Since my mother's first name was Angela, that had to be mine.I grabbed my bag and ...limbed out of the car. I stumbled on my high heels as I walked into the school's office. The receptionist smiled at me. "Good morning Miss Peterson." Miss?" I thought, "At least I'm not married."Just like when I was a little girl, somehow I knew how to be a little girl, I knew what to do in my new job. I got my mail from my faculty mailbox, then. Because of that, I'd become a virtual prisoner in my own house. That or lazy, however you want to look at it. I know that part of it was feeling sorry for myself. That and being angry at the dumb fuck that T-boned my car, severing my leg. The fact he died in the accident seemed unfair in a way, the way I looked at it. I found myself wishing I'd been the one who'd been killed, as opposed to trying to make my way through life at almost fifty, without the use of my leg. I know ... but that's how I. More

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