POV: Margaret

I didn’t turn the television on that morning. I couldn’t. I hadn’t touched the remote in weeks, maybe longer, and every time I so much as glanced at the black screen, I remembered the last time I saw my husband on it. The news had shown him in handcuffs, his name smeared across the bottom of the screen with cruel words like fraud and disgrace. That image had been burned into my memory like a scar. No matter how many times I tried to forget, it always came back to me—the way his face looked that day, the confusion in his eyes, the way Siena had screamed when...