Everything I might have told her, had I longer to live. That was a fresh cut of pain. Was it a memory to consider the future we would never have? I considered her question. “The first thing I remember clearly? I know I have older memories, but I hid them from myself, long ago.” I drew a deep breath. Hiding memories again. Setting the pains and the joys deep into stone. “The rain had soaked through me. The day was chill and cold. The hand that held mine was hard and callused. His grip was remorseless but not unkind. The cobblestones were icy, and that grip kept me from falling when I slipped.
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STOP SHES WRITING THE FFIRST BOOK
