I was right behind her.
Standing there was Katherine.
She was wearing what could only be described as rags.
The bright makeup she had always loved was gone.
Instead, she was wearing faded gray clothes and worn-out, slightly torn boots.
It was obvious life hadn’t been kind to her.
But when she raised a hand to push back her hair, the frayed cuff of her sleeve slid up — and I caught the glint of the Cartier bracelet I’d bought her the year Greta was born.
Eleven months of overtime.
I had wanted her to have one beautiful thing.
She’d had it, apparently, the whole time.
For Complete Cooking STEPS Please Head On Over To Next Page Or Open button (>)
