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At 2 A.M., My Father Texted: “Grab Your Sister And Run — Don’t Trust Your Mother.” So I Did.

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already pulled.

I tried calling him. Straight to voicemail. His professional outgoing message—calm, measured, the voice of the man I knew—was incongruous with the emergency he’d declared. His phone was off, which meant either he’d turned it off deliberately or someone had turned it off for him.

Becca was pulling on my sleeve. “What does he mean, don’t continue reading …

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