Her Quiet Fury

n Maine was as isola

weak sunlight filtering t

ith the smell of di

y from the gilded

self-imposed exile,

old and stoic, who had once bee

and a thinly veiled

, her voice devoid of inflection as she unpacked ti

her arrange the cans on the

phina' s memory, and by

ust the inadequ

ologize. I had noth

a different kind of prison

ng a game, and I w

black car pulled up th

leaped, t

sta

Alistair who

ar-old Clara, her small face pal

and silent, ushered

nefit from some time with her mother," the

manipulati

ure me back, to make me

for her was my g

er small arms wrap

Why are

ed Alistair's unseen hand, hi

on, watched from the doorwa

ra into a small, musty

is kindness, Eleanor. He's

ment for Seraphina, for the life I had

n't r

yalty to Alistair, mean

my arms, a fragile, unexpected glimme