Brittle Nails and a Disputed Greenhouse in Autumn

lingering where he is not invited,” I said.

“He has a point, Martha. Maybe we should think about stepping back.”

A sudden, cold wave of fatigue washed over my chest, so heavy that my fingers simply went numb. The ceramic cup tilted, spilling hot amber liquid across my lap and onto the wicker tabletop.

Donald jumped up, grabbing a kitchen towel to mop continue reading …