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was pacing back and forth on the porch, his face contorted with rage.
Mom was sitting on one of the Adirondack chairs I had hand-painted last summer, sobbing into her hands.
Beyond them, the rain was coming down in sheets, illuminated by the flood lights of the U-Haul truck still idling in the driveway.
I pressed the talk button on the interface.
My voice continue reading …
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