Walton Merritt

19 July I’m still hearing the endless “When will dinner be ready?” echo through the cramped kitchen.

My dad thought it was right to marry me off to a beggar just because I was born blind—what came after

I sit by the kitchen window, the rain tapping against the panes, and try to put the tangled years of

I remember it as if the memory were a cold wind that still brushes my cheek on winter evenings.

“Ma’am, you’re in the wrong department,” the young clerks said with a grin as they glanced at the fresh recruit.

Today I walked the familiar route from my country house on the outskirts of London to the office in the

15 June 2025 Today they told me I was being let go because I was “no longer the right fit.” As I walked

When the winter was at its deepest and the heart of the East End of London lay frozen and starving, a

The words of Molly echo in my head like a sudden clap of thunder on a clear afternoon. I sit on the sofa

29 April 2025 I returned home unannounced this afternoon, the click of my polished Oxford shoes echoing