When I first met Amy in the emergency room, she had a minor laceration on her finger. She claimed it was from an accident in the kitchen, but her cowering posture, downcast eyes and hesitant responses to basic questions suggested there was more to her visit than she was letting on.
Amy reminds me of the girls I grew up with. Delicate, but exhausted and under pressure. She works long hours at a convenience store with a manager who offers no flexibility. Determined to save enough for college classes toward her degree, Amy has also shouldered the responsibility of supporting her mother, who has grown dependent on painkillers. She cleans homes to cover unexpected expenses, like becoming pregnant after a condom broke during sex, but she was unable to scrape together enough cash to purchase the morning-after pill.
