Sixty-three Year Old Widow Refused to Hide Her Gray Hair at Work

next to the date October thirty-first.

“What are you doing in here, Martha?”

I turned slowly. Harold was standing in the doorway of his private washroom, drying his hands with a paper towel. His heavy gold watch on the desk ticked loudly in the quiet room.

“Well, now,” I said, keeping my hand steady as I closed the folder. “I was looking for the quarterly continue reading …