Katrina Leno

She couldn’t remember the first book she had eaten.

What it had tasted like, how it had felt—the scratch of it as it slid down her throat.

Returning to the past… Jane turned the phrase over in her head as she followed Ruth to the front door. She didn’t understand what it meant, or what it might be like to not want to return to the past. That was all she wanted to do; all she wanted in the entire world was to rewind, start the tape over, go back a few weeks or months and try a do-over,

“Grief is different for everyone,” Ruth continued. “There’s no right or wrong answer. Just remember that, okay?”