It’s no doubt childish, but I lock myself in my room for two days. Caitlín brings me dinner the first night, but I send her away with the untouched plate. I can’t even think about food; my stomach is queasy enough as it is. My mother knocks on my door several times throughout the day, but I ignore her. By the second night, I sneak down after everyone’s gone to bed and raid the fridge, because I’m starving. Then I return to my room and sulk. I try reading the book I started, but I can’t concentrate. All I can do is think about my future. I’m barely twenty-four years old. I’ve never really even
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