Clara found a forged receipt for forty thousand dollars

the pocket of my cardigan, my fingers brushing against the cold, smooth metal of Martha’s old silver hairpin.

I pulled it out, holding it up to the fading light.

It was simple, slightly bent at the tip from years of holding her heavy silver-grey hair in place.

I held it in my palm for a minute, feeling the weight of the years we had shared on this shore,continue reading …