Dana Vespoli Dear -

Dear Dana Vespoli,

Dana’s hand went cold. She set the paper down, looked toward the back door. Locked. She was sure she’d locked it. But then again, she’d been forgetting things lately—the way her mother had started to forget, before the end. dana vespoli dear

Dana’s throat tightened. She did remember. The cobbler had been perfect—brown sugar and cinnamon, still warm from the oven. Her sister, Elena, had cried the next morning when she found the empty dish. Dana had shrugged and said, “Mom must have thrown it out.” Dear Dana Vespoli, Dana’s hand went cold