Available in Library

A wealthy white woman named Carol grows so desperate for a kid, she essentially steals one from a black teen mom. And gets away with it for sixteen years.

Read Sample

I have forty-seven scars on my body. Thirty-two pock marks from the measles. One on each knee from the time I tried to jump off a merry-go-round and didn’t quite nail the landing. Four from ingrown hairs that turned ugly, two from sloppy vegetable chopping, seven of unknown or forgotten origin. None from childbirth. My mother has scars from childbirth. I was the first of six and the only one that required a C-section. She takes every opportunity to remind me that she was in labor for fifty-two hours before they finally carved me out, although I’m pretty sure that that’s medically implausible. My three sisters all have children. Eleven among them. My brothers married comparably fertile women, so that’s five more for a grand total of sixteen nieces and nephews. I occasionally lose track of which kids belong to what siblings. But I never forget a birthday. Hell, two of them were born on mine. That makes it easy. Do you know my youngest sister didn’t even want to have kids? She blames her daughter for her failed writing career. I blame her failed writing. Women like her… women like her get to have kids, but I don’t. I don’t. I get to have a uterus about as hospitable as a garbage disposal, two divorces, and a freezer stocked with six different flavors of ice-cream... I actually entertained the idea of murdering my sister. I went as far as deciding on a means: car accident. Only two things stopped me: the first was her ex-husband. He would get custody of her daughter before I would, and two accidental deaths would be suspicious. The second was that if anyone suspected foul play—and they always do—it would be too easily traceable to me. Isn’t that fucked up?

Cast Requirements

3 W, 2/3 M, 2 N

Set Description

Various locations