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still had.
“Morning, Mama,” I said.
“There’s my girl,” she whispered. Her hand, light as paper, found mine on the blanket.
“Brenda says you’ve been keeping secrets from her,” I said, trying to make it sound like a joke.
“A woman my age is allowed a few,” Mom said, and her eyes crinkled like they used to before everything got hard. Before the stroke. Before continue reading …
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