Behind the Venue, My Husband Handed Me a Scrapbook Pulled From the Dumpster

in our food for a solid two weeks.

“I put stories in there,” Emma said, in the tone of someone presenting their most important piece of evidence. “About her. And Dad. And the family. So she remembers.”

David made a sound in his throat that he covered by pretending to react to the heater.

I pressed my head against the cold window and watched the town slip continue reading …