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It was a makeshift nursery. A small crib in the corner, piles of tiny folded clothes on the dresser, bottles stacked on a bedside table, a changing mat. The faint, sweet smell I’d noticed earlier was unmistakable now: baby powder.
He stood there, clutching the baby, his shoulders slumped. The baby, no older than a few weeks, perhaps months, was tiny,continue reading …
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