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rebuilding my routine.
Three weeks into the semester, I was alone in the library when a voice froze me.
“Lena.”
Clare stood a few feet away, iced coffee in hand, looking at me the way you look at something that should not be there.
“How are you here?” she asked.
“I transferred,” I said.
“Mom and Dad didn’t say anything.”
“They don’t know.”
The silence between continue reading …
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