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

he said, tapping the desk with his thick index finger. “The board is meeting on the fifteenth, and things are going to change around here.”

I did not answer him. I took my handbag from his side chair and walked out of the room, my boots heavy on the carpet.

I had called Cynthia from my desk, asking her to meet me at the Elm Street Diner continue reading …