I Came Back From Seven Years of Hell
He just stood there at a distance and said quietly, "I put the pieces back together."
He lifted his bandaged hand. Resting in his palm was the glass I'd broken, clumsily glued back together. Cracks webbed across the whole surface, and the shards were barely held in place with some kind of special adhesive.
Before I could get a good look, his hand trembled. The glass slipped, hit the concrete hard, and shattered all over again. This time, it was beyond repair.
The color drained from Giuliano's face. He dropped straight to his knees and prostrated himself before me, facing my front door. He pressed his forehead to the ground, speaking in a voice as hoarse as if it had been scraped raw with san
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