**Mother, Mother-in-law, and Me on the Edge** “Are you sure the baby won’t be harmed if you eat beetroot?
The House on the Edge of the Marsh Molly stood in the middle of an overgrown yard, waist-deep in thistles
It was late when the phone rang. I answered, and heard my daughter’s voice. “Mum, it’s Claire.
The evening light filtered gently through the lace curtains. Hannah set two plates of dinner on the table
**You Didn’t Earn My Tears** *”Never forget, Evelyn: if it weren’t for me, you’d never have amounted
**Monday, 12th June** *”Fancy some sausage or scrambled eggs?”* Charlotte asked.
In a remote corner of northern England, where the fogs of winter shroud the moors and summer brings swarms
Late one evening, the phone rang with an eerie shrill. I lifted the receiver, and a voice, frayed at
Diary Entry, 14th October 1952 Thornwick, a windswept coastal town where the sea bites the cliffs and
Emily quickly surveyed their cottage. Everything seemed in order, the children’s bows were tied neatly