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smirked. “She tried to argue about the name. My son carries my name. My rules.”
My baby’s tiny fist opened against my gown. I swallowed pain, rage, and the copper taste of humiliation. “His name is Eli,” I whispered.
Caleb’s chair scraped. “What did you say?”
Before he could stand, the door opened.
My uncle Ray walked in carrying a paper bag of apple muffins continue reading …
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