Deric

It was my 27th birthday today, and I wasn’t having it.

To be honest, I hadn’t felt less celebrating a day that was supposed to be mine in years. The problems pressing down on my chest made it impossible to forget. It wasn’t about the passing of time, hell, I’d had birthdays before, ones filled with love and happiness. Today’s own was different. My father was dying.

And there was nothing I could do about it. Not a damn thing.

As if ...