ABSTRACT
Her hands are clammy. She takes a deep breath for courage. It's day 15 and there are only five days left. As she approaches the room she listens for signs that it's going to be OK. There are only hushed whispers … no morning laughter. That's not a good sign. Her stomach clenches. She walks into the room and stops. There they are. She closes her eyes and says a brief prayer. Then she can't put it off any longer. She opens one eye and peaks at the dreaded posting. Her heart sinks, and the quarter point panic digs its boney fingers into her gut.
