“What fault-lines do you see in me?” My mother looked at me for a long, long time. The mantle of sorrow settled back over her. “Many,” she said at length, her voice gentle. “Fault-lines of grief and loss and despair, and fault-lines of pride and yearning. A strong, bright vein of indomitable courage and strength that with the wisdom of experience, even I would be reluctant to cross.”
