He died on a Tuesday.
I remember it was Tuesday because that was the only morning he went into work a little later, not hours before the sun rose.
He couldn’t find the cufflinks he wanted. Thought I’d left home and sold them. Accused me of pilfering money away so I could leave him. Even suggested I’d given them as a present to a secret lover.
He was raving around the house, shouting like a lunatic, throwing drawers open, telling me he’d find my stash of cash and kill me.
You were asleep in your room. You poor, sweet angel, you’d learned to sleep through anything.
As hard as life was for us, you were a happy little girl. You were chubby once you started growing as a baby, but as soon as you learned to walk your muscles turned lean. I think you spent one day toddling and after that you
