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. . . Days seemed fragmented, broken into odd pieces, a plate too full, a pinching shoe, an empty chair. . . .

. . . May she always be with those who love her.
May she prosper and be safe.
I wiped tears off my cheeks.
“May God grant her all this,”  I whispered. . . .

. . . You do not reason with a flood.  You look for anything useful that might float your way. . . .

. . . I wondered if the one hour a day I now made Darya walk in high heels, with a book on her head, was enough to keep her spine straight. . . .