not erase cruel choices.
“No, Brandon. There is nothing left to save.”
One month after the divorce became final, a small package arrived at our apartment.
There was no return address.
Inside was the blue ceramic vase that had shattered onto the floor the night Brandon attacked Mom.
Someone had carefully glued every broken piece back together.
Visible gold-painted lines traced each crack across the surface.
Mom held the restored vase in both hands.
“Brandon sent this, didn’t he?”
“Does it bother you to look at it?”
She carried it
