SALT, SPICES, FAT, HONEY

I wake in the pre-dawn dark to make his breakfast, clean him, roll him onto his back.

  • Excerpt

    I wake in the pre-dawn dark to make his breakfast, clean him, roll him onto his back. I leave for work with a head brimming with recipes, plans, a shopping list. Spices, salt, fat, honey. But when I get home, arms laden with groceries, his bed is empty. Panic lances through me before reason reasserts itself: He can’t have gone far. He hasn’t been able to walk in years.

Report