PART 3   I stared at the hospital bracelet in the lunchbox until the letters of my own name blurred.

I visited her grave with Walter.

I wasn’t sure if that was appropriate.

Then I realized grief doesn’t care much about clean categories.

He stood beside me holding white daisies.

For a long time, he said nothing.

Then he knelt slowly and placed the flowers near her name.

“Grace,” he whispered, “I told her.”

The wind moved through the grass.

“I’m sorry I broke continue reading …