…shattered everything I thought I knew about the woman I loved.
Calla was supposed to be my wife.
Seven years ago, she was the center of our loud, crowded house, the one who could calm a toddler with a song and stop a fight with one look.
Mara had been eleven that night, barefoot on the side of a road, shaking so hard she could barely stand.
***
The police found Calla’s car by the river: driver’s door open, purse inside, and coat left on the railing above the water.
They found Mara hours later, walking along the road, her face blank, her hands blue with cold.
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