Three Bags of Cashews and a Dishonest Sister In Law at the Wedding

started on the next name.

I walked out to my car without another word, the cool air hitting my face like a damp towel.

By four that afternoon, the smell of melted white chocolate had faded from my kitchen, replaced by the damp draft coming through the loose window pane above the sink. Clara sat at the kitchen table, her face buried in her hands.

The black continue reading …