felt like a foreign

f her place in Cohen's world. He had given it to her at a l

house. The face in the mirror was a stranger'

to come off. Her fingers were swollen

ing into her skin. She twisted again, harder thi

lid

er palm. It was

ing room and placed it carefully on the center of the mantelpiece

or the life

of methodical tasks. Each on

ed the closet and the scent of lavender and mot

and breathed it in, a strangled sob escaping h

e began

ing into piles. Ke

ll-worn copy of 'To Kill a Mockingbird'. A small si

with firm, deliberate movements. She wrote 'MEMORI

hs. Albums filled with school

ing on the porch of this very house. Her mother was beaming, her arm linked through C

ked like

as a

e picked up a pair of scissors

hoto. That was too e

ed the edges until it was just her and her mother, smiling under

ew, smaller photo

paper with Cohen's smi

. A notification from Instag

was laughing, his arm draped around her shoulders. He leaned in and kissed

was a single

ched it on

heavy pressure in her chest, confirming eve

ng truth she had refused to see. He wasn't just co

e pain was a compass. It told her sh

ireplace. She looked at the ring

n insult

ed to the back door, opened it, and threw the ring as hard

't hear

one. Swallowe