It felt worse than being yelled at.
« Carter? »
I looked up.
A woman in her late 50s stood over me with a stack of forms tucked under one arm.
« I’m Margaret, one of the clerks here, » she said gently. « You have the 10 o’clock case? »
« Yes, ma’am. »
« Are you holding up all right? »
« I haven’t slept in three weeks, » I admitted. « So, honestly, no. »
Her eyes softened in a way that made me feel as though she already knew things about me that I had never told her.
« You brought all five children with you? »
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