She had written a perfect sentence once. A story she liked a couple of times. But the truth, the whole damned truth, is that she let life take the writing away. The teaching degree and falling in love just took up so much time, and then the teaching and wedding, and then being a mom.
It’ll be good material, she always told herself.The mom stuff. The real life stuff. Someday I’ll get to it
When her daughter started kindergarten, she just knew she’d have the time to write. But she’d settled into the stay-at-home mom routine a little too easily.
Every morning, 10-Noon, right? One of these days. The real life stuff.
Since launching the day care, she’d been exhausted. It brought in just enough money. Between that income and their savings, they were keeping just ahead of the bills. But her husband wasn’t bringing in any income. None. And he hadn’t eased up on the spending.
And now here she was, about to spend more money, pulling into the parking lot of the County Jail. Shit, this place was enormous. It was what she imagined a Supermax to look like–cold and sanitized looking, no signs of life, just razor wire and concrete with the stylish awnings that made it resemble a fairly contemporary office park.
Yeah, except for the razor wire. And the fact that this was miles away from everything except the Johnson County Sheriff’s office. From everything she had read about him, he was a piece of work, and this building was his baby. Supermax, Mad Max, Whatever-the-hell-max. This ain’t gonna be pretty.
She breathed in deep, tucked her cell phone in the glovebox, exhaled, and slammed the car door shut. Doesn’t matter how it turns out, she thought. This ain’t gonna be pretty.
But the real life stuff rarely is.
Continuing this story with the pivot to the wife’s POV. I really need to name these characters. I think the last sentence may be a little bit of overwriting.