The Letter Had This Week’s Postmark

even turned around all the way.

Sarah looked at the girls first.

Not me.

Her hand flew to her mouth and she made a sound I’d never heard from another human being. Like joy had slammed straight into grief at full speed.

“My babies,” she said.

Sixteen-year-old girls don’t stay babies. Mine especially. They had opinions and tempers and phones full of nonsense continue reading …