I thought the worst part of losing Mark had already happened: the crash, the river, the empty years that followed. But standing in my kitchen with Jonah’s envelope on the table, listening to Mark’s recorded voice calmly explain that he’d been afraid of someone close to us, I understood grief could have aftershocks. Nora’s hands shook as she traced the edges of the storage key. Blind, but not helpless. Hurt, but not small. She insisted on following every lead, on turning every page with her own fingers.
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