but her expression didn’t change.
“Please,” she said again, softer now. “Don’t ruin her memory.”
I let out a breath that sounded like a broken laugh.
“Her memory ruined me,” I said.
After she left that day—after she stood in my doorway and said, “She still loved you, in her way,” like that was supposed to help—I sat in the same spot on the couch and stared continue reading …
