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

looked toward the kitchen door, where the hum of the old mixer was silent. “I promise, Martha.”

I believed her because she had our mother’s eyes, and because the locket was the only thing of value we had left.

By five in the afternoon, the rain had started, a steady drizzle that turned the gravel in the alley to mud. In my dining room, the heavy green continue reading …