A story from Dorothy Koomson to stir the heart and awaken vital conversations about love.Zillah’s door bell rings. It is the mother of her lost love. She will not leave until she’s had her say.
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Dorothy Koomson. Wildflowers: A Story from the collection, I Am Heathcliff
Wildflowers. by Dorothy Koomson
Copyright
FOREWORD BY KATE MOSSE
WILDFLOWERS. DOROTHY KOOMSON. Saturday, 9.05 a.m
Twelve years ago
Saturday, 9.07 a.m
Eleven years ago
Saturday, 9.15 a.m
Ten years, six months ago
Saturday, 9.35 a.m
Ten years, three months ago
Saturday, 9.40 a.m
Two weeks ago
Saturday, 9.45 a.m
Two weeks ago
Saturday, 9.50 a.m
Saturday, 12.35 p.m
NOTE ON THE AUTHOR
A NOTE ON EMILY BRONTË
If you enjoyed this story, read the full collection here
About the Publisher
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Cover
Title Page
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She sits with the knife beside her, her grey-blonde hair a wiry, unruly mess around her head, her eyes out on fierce stalks, her thin lips pressed together in barely contained rage. ‘I am doing, Zillah, what I should have done years ago – ridding myself of you once and for all.’
I tore off the brown wrapping paper with all the excitement of a woman receiving a first anniversary present from the man she loves. The flowers, our wildflowers, were hidden behind the brown paper.