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with his keys in his hand, looking out at the street, not at me.
“I’ll call,” he said.
“Okay,” I said.
“I mean it.”
“I know you do.”
A pause.
“You’re always welcome to visit. That hasn’t changed.”
He looked at me then.
“I’m sorry, Mom.”
I had waited 11 months to hear that.
When it came, it was smaller than I’d expected and more than enough.
“I know,” I said. continue reading …
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