The Letter Had This Week’s Postmark

I looked up.

Sarah was on her knees two pews ahead, one hand pressed to her side.

There was blood between her fingers.

No.

I crawled to her. The girls crawled with me.

“It’s okay,” she said, which was stupid and false and exactly the kind of thing Sarah always said when she was the one hurting.

“Don’t talk,” I told her.

“Daniel.”

“Don’t.”

But she did.

Her eyes continue reading …