10
Today my life begins.
Devon stared breathlessly down at the first yellowed page, and felt a funny clutch in the pit of her stomach. This wasn’t just a book. It was a lady’s diary. And the date inscribed in the upper right corner read 12 June, 1893.
It could only have belonged to Aunt Martha’s grandmother who had married her childhood sweetheart, given birth to six strapping children, and lived to a ripe old age in this house.
It felt strange, almost blasphemous, to be staring at the spidery words she’d written over a century ago with faded homemade ink and a sharp-tipped quill pen.
But she had to know.
Devon took a deep breath, settled gingerly on the delicate petit-point chair, and began the slow task of deciphering unfamiliar handwriting.
Today my life begins.
Sixteen years ag
