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and Layla finally slept, I sat on the porch with my grandmother. The yard was littered with evidence of joy, a deflated balloon, a tiny shoe, paper plates stacked near the door.
“She will ask someday,” I said.
Eleanor did not pretend to misunderstand. “Yes.”
“What do I tell her?”
“The truth in portions she can carry.”
I looked at her. “That her father loves continue reading …
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