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to be proven wrong.
“Grandma,” I whispered, confused by her calm.
She turned to look at me, and her expression wasn’t grief-stricken or shocked. It was calm, almost resigned, with something else underneath—something that looked almost like satisfaction.
“I knew this might happen, sweetheart.”
“You… you knew?”
“I know my son.” Her voice was steady, matter-of-fact.continue reading …
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