Mila
Sixteen Tons emanated from my phone where it lay on the nightstand. Half-awake, I thrust my arm out and felt around for the device without opening my eyes.
I cracked open my eyelids just enough to see the screen. Outside my window, the sky looked more like night than morning. The sun had yet to become more than a general brightness on the horizon.
I pushed the accept icon and put the phone to my ear.
“Hello?"
My voice sounded thick with sleep, even to my own ears.
“Hi, Mila, I'm so sorry to wake you, but there's a crisis."
Dr. Wilma sounded as sleepy as I felt.
“It's fine. You need me to come in early?"
“Yes, we do. Miss Petticoats needs a C-section and everyone else is scheduled. I really am sorry, Mila."
“No, it's fine. Kind of half expected it. Petticoats is a French Bull
