that same reassuring curve I had seen on my porch just yesterday.
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I closed the album and set it on the oak coffee table, the heavy thud of the cover echoing in the empty room.
My children had their own lives in Columbus, and my friends only called on Tuesdays. The silence of the house was a physical weight, pressing against my chest continue reading …
until I found myself listening for a knock at the door that wouldn’t come.
I walked to the front window and pulled the lace curtain aside, looking out at the empty street.
A neighbor’s dog barked three streets over, a lonely, repetitive sound that only made the house feel more abandoned.
I sat back on the sofa, looking at a picture of Clara and me when continue reading
