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in the backyard with Emma, wearing rain boots even though it had not rained. She was digging a hole beside the fence with a plastic beach shovel.
When she saw me, she ran over.
“Mommy! We’re making a worm hotel.”
“A luxury one?”
“Obviously.”
She grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the mud.
Her hair was uncovered, short and uneven, shining in the sun.
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