Jokes falling flat. A restless crowd. An interrupted flow. Exactly what she expected from this daytime set. And the front row heckler wasn’t helping either.
She hoped he’d skip this gig. She even tried making details scarce, but it’s hard hiding anything when you live under the same roof.
He paid for college, so he thinks he gets a say in her career choice. Textbook malignant narcissist.
He keeps at it, relentless, and she can feel the tears welling. But she fights it, digging her nails into the palm of her hand until there’s red.
He’s not winning this time.
The Weekday One Hundred 