Tag: Gatorade

  • Not My Home

    “This isn’t my home.  Do not leave me here.”  Michaela stopped at stomping her foot, but angrily crossed her arms in front of her chest.  I sighed heavily, knowing she wouldn’t remember this conversation in the morning.  I turned back toward the kitchen we shared to get her a glass of water and see if we had any food she would eat.  I didn’t know what she had…