White Spots on My Cheeks Led to an Unwanted Contract

the documents back down on the table, right next to the salt shaker.

Clara stared at the pages, her hand resting flat on the wood.

I looked down, the red county stamp staring up at me from my own kitchen table.

The teller at the first window did not look at me when she slid my gray debit card back across the marble counter.

“I am sorry, Mrs. Vance, but continue reading …