She Returned to Escape the Past. The Past Was Waiting in Her Bed.

Clara had spent pretending she was not afraid.

Slowly, the figure beneath the blanket turned her head.

Older.

Thinner.

Her dark hair streaked heavily with gray now, her cheeks hollowed by illness or time or both. But the eyes were the same.

Clara felt her knees weaken.

“Mama,” she breathed.

Her mother looked at her as though she were seeing a ghost.

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