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I was 10.
I had finally stopped translating it. Phoebe, are you there? Did you hear me?
You need to fix. Mom, I said it once quietly. She stopped.
Mom, where is Dad? He’s here, honey. He’s listening.
He just doesn’t. Dad. I waited.
I’m here, kid. His voice was rough. Beatatrice.
Let her talk. My mother exhaled. I heard her sit down.
The kitchen chair with continue reading …
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