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emerged from it with a phone that was nearly out of charge, a couple of bags of clothing she barely cared about anymore, and one object she had silently promised herself she would never give up no matter what else happened.
She had been wearing it or keeping it close since her grandmother placed it in her hands years ago. It was the kind of object that accumulates meaning the longer it stays with you. A physical reminder that she had been loved completely and without condition by at least one person in the world, regardless of what else the world chose to do.
The miscarriage had come first, arriving with the specific weight of a loss that leaves no visible evidence and continue reading …
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