Brittle Nails and a Disputed Greenhouse in Autumn

“And a lack of iron. It is a few pills a day.”

Sarah stopped twisting her necklace, her mouth opening slightly. “Pills? It is not dementia? It is not some kind of brain disease?”

“No,” I said. “Clara says I will be back to myself in two months.”

Sarah let out a long, ragged breath, her shoulders dropping. “Oh, thank God. I was so afraid. Donald has been continue reading …