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“You don’t fix it with lemon bars.”
A faint smile touched her mouth and vanished.
“No. I suppose not.”
“You don’t fix it fast either.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
She looked at me.
I saw my mother then not as a monster, but as something almost sadder: a woman who had spent so many years choosing appearances over people that she no longer knew how to reach for people continue reading …
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