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his hand, steam curling between us.
“Anita…”
“I know.”
“That’s serious.”
“She crushed our daughter’s ribs with a bat.”
He looked toward the living room, where Emma slept in the medical chair, one hand resting carefully over her bandaged side.
His face hardened.
“Okay,” he said.
That was one of the reasons I loved Derek. He could worry about consequences without continue reading …
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