Not whether his wife of thirty-eight years had helped destroy his son’s life.
My phone buzzed on the passenger seat.
Vivian.
I stared at her name until the screen went dark. Then it buzzed again, and this time it was a text.
Did you get there safely?
I didn’t answer.
Ten seconds later: George?
I turned the phone face down.
Thirty-eight years. Thirty-eight continue reading …
