The wind crooned softly as it dusted the snow against the windows, wrapping them in a thick and fluffy cotton blanket.

I’m like my mother, she thought, I search my joy for signs of sorrow ahead.

Death wasn’t a movie where the pretty star faded away with a touch of pale makeup and every hair in place.

She realized that the photograph had caused his reaction. It came to her almost as a revelation. Think of it: a photographer presses a button. A few hours later and half a world away, some...

Was it always to be like this? she wondered. A moment of joy followed by a new sorrow?

But things change, people change, Gaby. Otherwise what would be the point of living?

Well, memory can play tricks. Most people, I think, tend to remember the good rather than the bad when someone close to them dies.

The end came as dusk fell on a gloomy winter day of cold rain.

..it just seemed as if she were marking time while life rocketed past.