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too.”
She was quiet again.
Then, awkwardly, “I’m sorry about the fundraiser.”
I closed my eyes.
There it was.
A small apology.
Late.
Imperfect.
Still real enough to hold.
“Thank you,” I said.
“And the Facebook posts.”
“Thank you.”
“And saying you didn’t have anything else.”
That one landed harder.
My eyes opened.
Traffic moved along the street. Walter leaned against continue reading …
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