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to dying in my own bed while the person beside me watched and waited.
One day, Sophie asked, “Will you ever get married again?”
I laughed, but it came out hollow. “I don’t think so,” I said. “I think I’m done with romance.”
Sophie studied me. “Is that sad?”
I thought about it. Then I looked at her, at Catherine, at the quiet strength of my remaining family.continue reading …
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