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7:32.”
“That’s late.”
Meadow buried her face against my coat.
Judith glanced at her braids with visible annoyance.
“She’s obsessed with that hair.”
“She’s eight,” I replied.
I should have listened to the instinct screaming inside me.
Instead, I kissed Meadow goodbye and drove to work.
Twenty-seven hours later, I came back early after a flood closed the school continue reading …
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