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More roof gives away, and the part of the loft that holds my mother’s painting splinters and falls to the floor below.

I’m out of time.

I put both legs over the ledge, ignoring Shae’s repeated, “Storm!”

One hand on the rope.

The other.

I love you, Shae

Boom.

More glass, more wood, rains down as most of the roof collapses. I try to maintain my grip, try to rush down the makeshift escape.

Keep going, keep going?—

Halfway there.

Crack!

And then…

I close my eyes as I fall.

Down.

Down.

And hear nothing but her scream.

FORTY-EIGHT

SHAE

I’ll never forget the sound of my heart breaking.

It sounds like:

The drumming of my pulse?—

(Ba-dum-ba-dum-ba-dum)

The screech of air splitting as your body falls.

It’s your lover’s wail,

watching the world end

as you drift, surge, fly toward the ground.

Graceful like a feather; sharp like a stone.

(Shield the babies. They can’t see.

Cover their ears.

They still hear my screams.)