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one photo of a niece who had spent holidays here, birthdays here, afternoons here.
I walked to the mantel and touched the edge of a silver frame.
“Your house photographs beautifully,” I said.
Vanessa didn’t answer.
“But it doesn’t remember anything real.”
“Get out.”
I turned back to her.
“I’m not going to scream at you. I’m not going to hit you. I’m not going continue reading …
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