Better Days -

“Where are we going, love?” Grace asked, her voice a soft, frayed thing.

“Yes, love?”

Lena helped her mother out of her wheelchair—a loaner from the clinic—and they walked the last fifty feet to the edge of the bluff. Grace leaned on her, light as a sparrow. The ocean stretched before them, grey and vast and indifferent. But then, just at the horizon, a crack of light opened in the clouds—a single golden seam—and the water turned to hammered silver. Better Days

“I think today’s one of them.”