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and probably the most honesty his pride could produce without structural failure.
I didn’t forgive them in a rush. I didn’t cry. I didn’t promise holidays or family trips or a return to the way things were.
“Okay,” I said.
“Do you hate us?” my mother asked.
“No. But I don’t trust you.”
The words sat between us, heavy and precise. My father exhaled slowly.continue reading …
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