ADVERTISEMENT
would have been proud.
I went back upstairs and called Margaret.
“How are you?” she asked, the way she always did.
“I’m good,” I said, and I meant it. “I’m really good.”
“I’m glad,” she said. “You deserve to be.”
That night, I sat by the window and watched the river move through the city, carrying the day away into night. Somewhere out there, my son was continue reading …
ADVERTISEMENT