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of me waiting somewhere inside.
“I won’t stay long,” she said.
“Good.”
She took off the sunglasses.
Her eyes were swollen.
For a sliver of a second, pity moved in me.
Not love.
Not trust.
Just the reflexive ache of shared blood remembering childhood faces.
Then I remembered the phone in her hand in my parents’ living room.
The glee in her voice.
The pity held continue reading …
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