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coffee is terrible.
It’s the safest room I’ve ever been in.
Jocelyn hasn’t contacted me.
Patty sends a message on Mother’s Day and Thanksgiving. Always the same tone, always a thin blade wrapped in scripture.
“Praying for you daily, sweetheart.”
I don’t respond.
My father sends a Christmas card, handwritten, three sentences.
“Merry Christmas, Myra. I think continue reading …
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