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easily. Not perfectly. But fully.
On the anniversary of the day Violet was born, we did not mourn. We celebrated her Fight Day. Quincy made pancakes shaped like lopsided hearts. I lit one purple candle. Violet insisted on blowing it out four times.
When she was five, she asked why Quincy cried every year on her birthday.
He looked at me.
I nodded.
So he continue reading …
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