I could see the ring of tiny pockmarked scars around her ankle, the familiar ring. I’d liked it before; it fascinated me. I’d always try to touch it when I saw it when I was little, and I’d asked Mum about it a lot more often than I asked her about what happened to Dad. She’d always pushed off that question, too, but I hadn’t realized it was the same question.
ah so that's how her dad died
