Susanna
Ever since we buried Liliana, I had made a habit of coming here to her grave site, every day, like clockwork. I didn’t tell anyone but then again, I didn’t really need to. No one cared enough to ask, anyway, not even Florence, who had returned to her robotic, overly professional demeanor the moment I snapped at her two days after the burial. Not even Conrad who had not even bothered to call me and offer his condolences, even if they would be insincere.
It was just me and the ghost of Liliana now.
Sometimes I talked when I visited. Sometimes I sat in silence. Sometimes I said nothing at all but wept like I had that first day, when the ground was still soft and freshly disturbed. Now, the earth had hardened a little, but not me. I was still cracked wide open.
I left the hospital that afternoon dressed in the new clothes I’d had Florence buy me last week—high-waisted trousers in a dusty mauve shade and a cream blouse with loose sleeves. I had barely looked in the mirror before I
