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he whispered.
“When is she coming back?” I pulled at his sleeve. “Daddy, when?”
“I don’t know, baby. I don’t know.”
We waited that night. Then the next one. And the next.
But Mom never returned.
“When is she coming back?”
Three months later, Jean entered our living room carrying gifts, a casserole, and a smile that made me uneasy, though I was too young continue reading …
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