When my husband suffered a stroke, I was determined that this was not going to be the thing that unwound our love.
Overheard intimacy pulls the listener into its orbit, insinuating complicity where there is none.
My grandmother had no way of knowing a book on birds, sent from Russia when I was a child, would determine my adult fascinations.
I knew we were only going to Rulo to make up for his getting so drunk he slept in. Rulo was an apology.
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