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told me I was imagining things. But I wasn’t, was I?”
“No, baby. You weren’t imagining anything. That was real. Your memory of me was real.”
“Good.” She smiled. “Good night, Mom.”
“Good night, Hannah. I love you bigger than the sky.”
Her eyes widened.
“You used to say that to us every night when we were little.”
“I did.”
“I remember now,” she yawned. “Say continue reading …
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