I thought the young goth woman visiting Mom every Saturday was simply an unexpected friendship. After Mom died, I learned their bond had grown from something far more personal. The more I uncovered, the more I realized Mom had been carrying a regret none of us had fully understood.
Raven waited until almost everyone had left my mother’s funeral before she came near me.
I had spent the whole service pretending not to watch her.
She stood at the back in a long black coat, silver rings catching the light along one eyebrow and her nose. I’d seen her sitting at Mom’s kitchen table every Saturday for months like she belonged there.
Voir la suite dans la page suivante:
