Winter Garden

by Kristin Hannah

“Dreams are for men like your father. They are the reason we mourn him now, in private and secretly, as if we are criminals. He planted in your head all kinds of fantasies. Let that go. Quit being his children and become women of this kingdom. There are things to do out there; I promise you this.”

“I miss him,” Olga says, starting to cry again. “Yes,” Mama says in a throaty voice. “Forever. That’s how long we’ll have an empty place at the table.” She draws back at last. “But we will not speak of him again. Not ever. Not even to each other.” “But . . . you cannot just stop your feelings,” Vera says. “Perhaps,” her mother says, “ but you can refuse to express them, and that is what we will do.”

She’d been hiding behind the camera, looking through glass, trying to find herself. But how could she? How could any woman know her own story until she knew her mother’s?

life—and love—can be gone any second. When you had it, you needed to hang on with all your strength and savor every second.