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On day three, my father texted me a photograph. A child’s drawing in crayon.
Two figures, one tall, one small. Standing in front of a small castle. My niece had written the caption herself in 5-year-old block letters.
Aubrey and Aunt Feebs Lisbon, not Spain. Lisbon. She had drawn herself with me in the country she had decided was ours.
My father wrote continue reading …
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