Open House

by Katie Sise

But her grief was like a part of her body now, and she felt a visceral need to stay connected to her roots and her pain, and to her sister.

What if I’ve trusted the wrong people all this time? How is anyone supposed to know who the good ones are? Maybe there’s not even such a thing as good; maybe there are only shades of gray and circumstances and people reacting to them in myriad ways. Maybe no one should be surprised by anything anyone does. Maybe we’re all just animals trying to survive.