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signals a child is about to touch the real thing underneath all the easy answers.
“Mommy?”
“Yes?”
“Was I bad?”
My heart stopped.
“No,” I said. “No, honey. Why would you ever ask that?”
She looked at the ground.
“Because Daddy left. And you didn’t come sooner.”
There it was.
The wound.
The real one.
I knelt in the wood chips so we were eye level.
“Why didn’t you continue reading …
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