Madrid Iowa Orchard Owners Stand Against a Counterfeit Prophecy for Two Thousand Twenty Six

room smelled of old paper and the faint, sweet scent of the beeswax candles I kept in the drawer.

I sat in my husband’s old leather armchair, the springs giving way with a familiar, comforting creak.

I turned the pages of the journal to the very end, where the sliced edges met the neat binding.

I aligned the loose sheets I had found continue reading …