When I woke the next morning, there was the shape of someone’s name still on my lips. For months, I hadn’t thought of life before Bonnie’s death, a life that seemed now so far from me. In my dream, I had returned to the comforts of that life, where the smallest things made me content – early morning routines before work, the greetings of colleagues, and even the exhaustion I often felt when I finally climbed into bed after a long day. Lying there now, undecided about the day, in a foreign bed so far from home, was not a luxury. I allowed myself to slip back into sleep and searched for the comfort of my lost routines.
“Dana!”
Madeleine, showered and dressed for the day, sat close, a mug of tea held towards me as an incentive to get up.
“What will we do today?” she said. Her voice was sun
