Sunday, November 1, 2015

91. Assuming the Worst
The next Monday I realized we hadn’t heard from Mick the previous Friday. My mind jumped to all sorts of negative conclusions.  She had relapsed.  She had relapsed and lost the baby. She was in jail.  “Dammit,” I muttered under my breath. I emailed The Other Ken.
Mick was fine, the baby was fine, nobody was in jail.  Mick and her mother had spent the weekend with Mick’s grandmother, patching up their relationships.  Her mother wanted to be part of the baby’s life.  Mick forgave her mother for naming her “Glinda Belle.”  Assuming the worst had been depressing, and not very useful.
Today I won’t assume the worst.
Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

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