dry as toast. “They shake like a paint mixer. And a letter leaving this family gets read at more checkpoints than a prisoner of war’s.”
Then her voice changed.
Quiet.
Level.
Like testimony.
“I want you to hear this from me while I can still say it plain. I never believed the word disappeared. Not for one day. People don’t disappear, Tori. They get erased. And I have sat at that woman’s table the better part of 40 years watching who holds the eraser.”
I covered my mouth.
For four
