It began as a perfectly ordinary Saturday, the kind filled with the scent of pancakes and syrup that usually signaled a day of…
The drone of rolling suitcases and the disembodied echo of flight announcements were the only constants in Edward Langford’s life. It was the…
At thirty-one, I was a chief accountant for a trading company in Chicago, a city that hummed with a life as steady and…
The Balmon mansion wasn’t so much a house as a statement, a mirage of glass and marble perched on the city’s most exclusive…
The phone rang at 5 a.m., a shrill tear in the fabric of the morning, and with it came the news that would…
Human waste. That’s what you are. You contaminate my life just by existing. The words, spoken by my own son, Ethan, echoed in…
July 23, 2005, dawned with the kind of storybook perfection Washington D.C. reserves for its most cherished summer days. The air, a pleasant…
The house smelled of antiseptic and aging wood, a sterile scent clinging to the memories of a home. Upstairs, the man who had…
The morning after they buried my husband, a soldier, I drove home to find his parents changing the locks on our front door.…
The sharp scent of antiseptic clung to the air, mingling with the steady rhythm of the heart monitor. My daughter, Emily, lay pale…