rest of the night.
Six months after that first terrible day at the airport, a letter arrived addressed to Ellie in Carol’s handwriting. Brian and I sat with it unopened on the kitchen table.
“We don’t have to give it to her,” he said.
“No,” I agreed. “But we can ask her.”
Ellie was coloring at the counter. I sat down beside her and explained that Grandma continue reading …
