My Parents Told Us To Get Lost In The Snow Until My Phone Started Ringing

I used to believe that my life ended at ten forty-five on a Tuesday in April, in a kitchen that smelled of orange juice and disappointment, with a blizzard pressing itself against the windows like something that had been waiting to be let in.

I know now that it didn’t end there. But I didn’t know it then, standing in the snow outside my parents’ house continue reading …