“You would rather marry a sixty year old woman than find a decent girl your own age.”
That was what my mother shouted at me in the middle of our dusty front yard, loud enough for my uncles, curious neighbors, and even the propane delivery guy to hear every word clearly.
My name is Travis Miller, I am twenty years old, tall and broad shouldered, and I grew up in a small rural town in eastern Kentucky where rumors travel faster than the wind and settle before the truth even has a chance to stand up.
