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a cup of coffee gone lukewarm when my phone buzzed with an unknown number.
“Happy birthday, sis. I know it’s 8 months late. I’m sorry for all of it. Megan.”
I stood at the kitchen counter and read it in the same spot where I had eaten soup alone on March 15th. The kitchen light was on this time. Two photographs on the wall. A pot of coffee still warm.continue reading …
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