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Winner of Contest #214 🏆
“And then there was another Mark,” Dad recalls, sending the table into an encore of laughter. “Stop it!” Hannah pleads, tears rolling over sun-reddened cheeks. She perches opposite him, one leg hiked on the serrated bistro chair, a rum and coke bubbling in her left hand, the right clutching her stomach. She is 18, the spit of her mother – so she’s told – and will be off to university in two months. “Yes, God, please stop.” Begs Ryan, who is next to Dad, head in his hands. Muffled by skin, his voice is still so freshly broken that i...
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