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my hair.
Dad squeezed my shoulder. “Proud of you, kiddo.”
I swallowed hard.
The hospital lobby smelled like disinfectant, coffee, and raincoats. A television in the corner played morning news with the sound off. Someone’s toddler cried near the elevators. Ordinary suffering moved all around me.
Check-in took twenty minutes. Insurance cards. ID bracelet.continue reading …
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