I have had so many nights where I want to just run away for a little while. Get in my car and drive, and call my husband from a pay phone somewhere upcountry. But these fantasies, no matter how rooted in really feelings of entrapment are merely just that; fantasies.
In order to remain respectful, I will not reveal this person’s name. From here on out I will only refer to him as ‘Naaier’.
And yes, I have the receipts.
I decided to take the time to finish my trilogy.
So, at 5.30am, I stopped my car outside of the corner shop. From my back seat, I could have sworn I heard laughter. The laughter sounded young; adolescent. I decided I must have heard something/someone from outside the vehicle, and as I let my passenger in, my stomach dropped, as I was overcome with a feeling of nausea and dread. “Hello Shana”, she said.
To summarise, the urge to shake my daughter to death and put her in the oven isn’t one that I would like to wear on my sleeve. I constantly have the daydream where I forget her in the car. I keep seeing myself drop her from the bed.
I was told it was despicable and that I was using something as sensitive as pregnancy and the birth of my daughter to make money. 5000 shares later, I feel the need to respond…