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

My phone buzzed again.

Anna had sent twenty-six emails.

Each one was worse than the last.

The earliest said I was disappointed in her divorce.

The second said her daughter was not to visit Orchard House until Anna became “emotionally stable.”

The third said she should stop asking about my mother’s jewelry because “desperation was unbecoming.”

I read that continue reading …