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

she ever made with pride. And Emma’s memory book, restored as best it could be, faint stains still visible at the edges, the ribbon replaced in the same blue.

They did not match. They were not meant to match. One told the story of a child who made things for a mother who understood their value. The other told the story of a granddaughter who held up continue reading …