“It Was Never Yours,” My Mother Said — Then the County Recorder Pulled Up the Deed

my breath catch: a small ceramic angel, half-melted from the fire, but still recognizable.

I’d had one exactly like it as a kid. My mother bought it at a church sale. Chelsea had knocked it off my windowsill during a tantrum, and I’d glued it back together with nail polish and tears.

“How is this here?” I whispered, turning it over in my hands.

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