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of that house needed to become safe again, and if not for me, then for someone.
When I told Crawford, he looked at me for a long moment. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
I thought about Angela. About the purple crayon. About my mother’s text at 2:07 a.m.
“Because they turned my house into a weapon,” I said. “I want the last word to be continue reading …
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