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The city lights sparkled through the rain-streaked windows of Sarah Mitchell's corner office on Madison Avenue. At forty-two, she'd mastered the art of corporate warfare, though each victory seemed to chisel away another piece of her private life.

Everyone thinks I’m losing it because I drink raw vinegar three times a day. My skin needs that glow if I want to stand a chance against those younger girls. It burns, but the thought of him finally seeing me as a beauty makes every single drop worth it.

The desert sun hung like a brass coin in the cloudless sky, beating down on the weathered boardwalk. Sarah Matthews stood in the shadow of the general store, her cotton dress heavy with dust, watching as riders approached through the shimmering heat waves.

When I was 14, my appendix burst during a school field trip. The teachers called my mom's cell five times, but she was getting her nails done. By the time I got to the hospital, the infection had spread. Her response? "These things happen."

When I was 12, I broke my arm at gymnastics practice. My dad was supposed to pick me up, but he was at a business dinner. The coach drove me to the ER, and my parents didn't show up until three hours later. They were at a wine tasting.

When I was 14, I broke my arm at soccer practice. My mom was at a wine tasting downtown and wouldn't answer her phone. The coach drove me to the ER himself. She finally showed up three hours later, complained about missing her event.

When I was 12, my appendix burst during my piano recital. Mom was at a wine tasting and told the school to call my aunt instead. I ended up taking a taxi to the emergency room. The nurse couldn't believe a parent wasn't with me.

When I was 12, I fell off my bike and broke my arm at summer camp. The counselor called my mom at her yoga retreat. She told them to just handle it and bill her later. I spent six hours in the ER alone.