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“Forgive me,” he says, looking at her with big, dark eyes, much as when he looked at her naked across a bed, too many decades ago. Only this time they are fully clothed, and the thing between them is their daughter, the blood that ran out of her cold and tacky on Mildred’s skin.
She has no words. Wanting to forgive and being able to; it’s like being able to remember Sarah’s face and being unable to forget the way she looks now. She leans in and kisses him, so there can be no words.
Somewhere, over the roar and crackle of flames, Mildred fancies she can hear singing. Maybe this can be benediction enough.