Aug 15, 2022
5 min read
This Time, It’ll Be Different
The stories we tell ourselves to get through the days without screaming.
Before Sophie died in my arms, I tried to remember her as she was rather than the skin, jutting bones and matted hair she’d become. When I first saw her, she streaked across the room like a star burning bright and hot. And, as the years passed, she’d proven that she was an insouciant little…
