She Was Sitting In My Front-Row Seat Holding My Novel — Smiling Like She Had Stolen My Life

waved from the side of the stage.

Mara stood near the wall with her arms crossed, pretending not to be moved.

The moderator approached the microphone.

“Tonight,” she said, “we celebrate the opening of the Lydia Pierce Residency for Women Writers.”

Applause rose.

My mother’s name crossed the room like a blessing.

“The residency’s first fellowship is funded continue reading …