A new life

There were no street names to help her orient herself so she followed scents of rosewater and cardamom. Stumbled through cobbled streets and lines of washing, dragging her battered red suitcase to a tiny, yellow rose-filled tea shop. She clutched the key round her neck, the one that unlocked a house that no longer existed, as she drank tea and ate sweet pastries like her mother made, felt the ridges of her neck relax.
Anita Goveas