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like an anchor.
When labor started weeks later, it was 2:00 a.m. Warren drove too fast, knuckles white. Patricia met us at the hospital parking lot because she’d insisted on being on standby.
Hours later—after fear and sweat and tears and the brutal miracle of it—I heard the first cry. Strong. Furious. A cry that sounded like I’m here and I’m not asking continue reading …
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