you this.” Back at the house, it felt wrong. Ray’s boots by the door. His mug in the sink. The basil drooping in the window.
That afternoon, Mrs. Patel knocked and came in. She sat on my bed, eyes red, and held out an envelope. “Your uncle asked me to give you this,” she said. “And to tell you he’s sorry. And that… I am too.” “Sorry for what?” I asked.continue reading …
