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him. Michael in cap and gown, taller than me, eyes bright with a confidence I had paid for with sleepless nights. Michael as a young man, arm around me at a charity event, smiling for cameras.
I stared at the images and felt the ache rise, the old instinct to soften, to excuse, to keep the peace.
Then I remembered his voice: she always caves.
I didn’t continue reading …
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