Frida

I drive like a mad woman to my parent’s house, racing through my neighborhood with my heart pounding in my chest. The neighbors glare daggers at me for driving like an idiot when I jump out of the car, but I don’t care. I left Stan in the goddamn basement without his insulin, and now I’m terrified I might have accidentally killed him. Shit. He better not be dead; he cannot be dead!

I rush towards the door, fumbling with the keys in a frenzy. The neighbor’s dog is barking at me, ...