PREVIEW

... barely see. Only one thing was clear. Mom. She was younger, much younger, the stress of hard years lived not yet showing on her face. Her auburn hair was thicker and richer in color, her skin smoother, her eyes brighter.


I felt myself fill with warmth as I stared up at her.


“Hi, little Art, I’m your daddy. Can you say dada?”


“Honey, he was just born.”


My tiny, strained eyes widened as I looked at my father. I’d almost forgotten how charismatic he’d ...

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