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explosive. Not loud. Worse. The kind that sharpens everything.
“Quincy, listen to me. Children don’t get punished for telling the truth.”
His eyes filled.
“They do in this house.”
I reached for him, but he stepped back out of habit. That hurt more than if he had refused me on purpose.
“Do you still have the notebook?” I asked.
His face closed instantly.
“What continue reading …
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