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

at a low angle, the particular pale light of December late in the day.

I said something to David about how sometimes people need to be reminded of who they were before the world convinced them to be something else.

He nodded. He said he didn’t know if he could fully forgive her for what she had done, to me, to Emma, to all of us over fifteen years. But continue reading …