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the hotel bathroom, but something quieter. Release. The slow unclenching of a fist that had been closed for months. 3 weeks later, I stood in the foyer of 4417 Maple Ridge Drive.
My house. The locks had been changed again. Back to mine. Michael’s flannel shirts were still in the closet.
His coffee mug was still on the counter. The dent in his pillow continue reading …
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