”
My father came over the next Saturday. Alone. He brought a toolbox. “Your deck railing looked loose,” he mumbled. We didn’t talk much, but he fixed the railing. He drank the coffee I made him. It was a start.
And Gloria?
She sent a letter in September. No return address. Just a single page in that neat, cursive handwriting.
Harper, it read. I made choices continue reading …
