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the ugliness out loud to believe it’s real.
“You know what I mean,” Mom said—eyes soft, voice hard. “You’re good at support, not at being center stage. Let Norah shine.”
Norah finally looked up at me, a small, clinical smile.
“It’s not that complicated,” she said. “You were made for the background.”
Something tilted inside me. My hands stayed steady, but continue reading …
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