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tilted beneath me.
I sat hard on the floor, still holding the baby against my chest.
Behind me, bacon burned in the skillet.
I looked up at my husband, and suddenly every familiar thing about him seemed false. His calm voice. His careful hands. His ability to sound reasonable no matter what was happening.
“Call 911,” I said.
“Izzy—”
“No. Call. Now.”
He didn’t continue reading …
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