Not figuratively. Literally. My brain was short-circuiting. The noise. The lights. The people. My two-year-old daughter Rosie screaming in her stroller. My four-year-old son Ethan pulling my arm toward every ride. The heat. The crowd. The complete and total feeling of drowning on dry land. My name is Amber Sullivan. I’m thirty-one. Single mother of two. Waitress. Exhausted person. I’d …
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