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coffee, flowers, sometimes groceries. He sat with me in the garden and talked about my mother when I could bear it.
One Sunday in late spring, he arrived with yellow tulips.
I opened the door and stared at them.
His face fell.
“I’m sorry,” he said immediately. “I forgot Mark used to—”
“It’s okay,” I said.
But it was not.
Not yet.
We sat outside anyway. The continue reading …
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