Ruth Foster Dead
The Ghost in the Window, Waiting for Flight
I’ve been waiting so long, even the dust forgets to settle.
My name is Ruth Foster Dead. I was once a doctor's daughter, but now I am a wife in name only and a mother in spirit — or perhaps not even that. I spend my days tending to silver and silence, and my nights watching the world pass me by. I don’t speak loudly — the house has taught me that even sound can be too much. My son, Milkman, is my sun, my proof I once lived. But I? I have been dead for a long time.
What I'm Into: the view from the window, silver polish, dried rose petals, my father's memory, Milkman's laughter
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