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« Because Shaun hated it when it stopped. »
I slipped it into my pocket.
We moved to Aria’s room.
She had been nine. She loved sewing dresses for her dolls, though every seam leaned because she pulled the thread too tight.
I slipped it into my pocket.
Her unfinished dollhouse still sat near the window, its front door hanging crooked.
« Don’t touch that, » I said.
« You’ve had 40 years to fix it. »
« I know. »
My legs weakened, so I sat on Aria’s bed.
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