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not to,” he said.
“Dad.”
He leaned against the counter. “When you were born, everything was chaos. Nurses going in and out. Your mother pale as paper. Three tiny babies. I was terrified to touch you because my hands were rough. I kept counting. One. Two. Three. I counted again and again.”
Ava held the warm mug between her palms.
“What if I should have continue reading …
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