DARKNESS SHROUDS THE EMPTY BAKERY. The only light comes from the street lamps outside.
Shadows move and crawl on the floor like fog. I sit in the middle of it, my fingers clutched tightly in front of me, palm pressed on the table, feet flat on the ground.
My stomach rumbles with nausea. I force myself to sit still. To hold my head high. To keep my gaze steady.
The tension between me and my husband builds, stretching along with the silence. Neither of us has said anything for two minutes.
It's as if we're playing a game. The first person to blink loses. And the loser won't be me.
'Do not be emotional'. Doc's advice whispers through my ears. I hear him. Feel him in my head. I'm on the cusps of the most important tournament in my life. I'm a boxer tuned into his coach's voice. Right hook. Go for the leg. He's weak on the right side.