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like your father at this age,” she murmured. “So much like my Ryan.”
“Dorothy,” I said, holding out the overnight bag, “I packed everything she needs. The instructions are—”
“I raised a child, Mara,” Dorothy interrupted, her warmth evaporating as she turned to look at me. “I think I know what a five-year-old requires.”
She took the bag from my hands without continue reading …
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