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my privacy.”
Peter leaned against the workbench. “Dad.”
Frank slammed a rusty can into a trash bag. “Don’t start.”
“I’m not starting anything. I’m asking what’s going on.”
“Nothing is going on.”
“You’re writing to some woman from before Mom?”
Frank turned. “I had a life before your mother.”
Peter’s jaw tightened. “So did Mom.”
That stopped him.
“What?”
Peter continue reading …
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