My family locked me in the basement to give birth. Days later, they returned to find a dark red liquid seeping from the door. As my mother screamed, a voice whispered behind her, “Looking for me?”

puzzle she was determined to dismantle.

The silence was a living, breathing entity until my father abruptly snapped his newspaper down.

“Has there been any word from David?” his voice was devoid of inflection, a flat terrain of indifference.

I pushed a single, cold green bean across my china plate. “Not much of consequence,” I murmured. “Nothing permanent continue reading …