I thought it would be easy to own my mistakes, to say goodbye, to let go… but the words turned to tears in my mouth and I choked on salt of my own making.
People cry, Bran.” “They do,” he said in a very low voice. “And when my mother’s cries turn into wails, Mattalina, a lot of people die. And she has to live with the blood of every one of those deaths coating her days, her nights, her clothe...
We can choose not to remember this day, but bones have strong memories. And earth never forgets.
I sobbed harder into Mom’s chest. I chose not to waste time explaining that it was okay—even fun—to play with Bran while we were in first and second grade. Now, the idea of hanging out with a short kid who always smelled like onions and went to...
