There were half-filled boxes and baby things everywhere. Alone in her bedroom, I re-opened the book and read a little more.
Her words echoed within me:
My heart replaced by a hanging bat with folded wings.
My head buried beneath a mountain obscured by clouds.
My house became a merry-go-round for infant ghosts.
I didn’t hear Victoria come up behind me.
‘So this is what it was like to lose-’
‘Of course not,’ she snapped, snatching her diary from my hands, ‘but this is what it was like in words.’