Three Sisters Divided Over a Limestone Bakery Built in Nineteen Sixty-Eight

cold. I could still feel the weight of the steel pans in my palms, the physical memory of the kitchen refusing to leave my muscles.

The sign maker rolled up his measuring tape, the metal snapping shut with a sharp, cold click. Clara came out of the front door of the bakery, her coat buttoned tightly to her chin.

She stood on the limestone continue reading …