chopping carrots for dinner.
The pan on the stove smelled like onion, celery, and garlic. A grocery list was still folded in my back pocket. Emma was home with me. My mother-in-law, Diane, had been staying with us while recovering from knee surgery.
It was an ordinary Tuesday evening until Emma tugged my sleeve.
She looked up at me and asked if she could stop taking the pills Grandma gave her every day.
There are sentences that make sense immediately.
That one did not.
My mind tried to protect me
