Giving her own sweet smile she kisses Barbie, Anna’s face dimpling into a mimicking map of ruby-red scars and pock-marked skin.
No need to leave, we can stay and fight, we agreed, before defeat thrust us into a desperate race.
Anna knelt on the back seat eyes glued to the encroaching inferno. When the rear window imploded from the heat, shattered glass pierced her six-year old flesh.
Our daughter’s face constantly reminds us of the race we almost lost.