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My father didn’t wrap his arms around me, or lay a kiss on my head, or call me sweet names, but he sat outside my door, came for me with heavy footsteps each time I called, and led spoonfuls of savory broth to my lips as the heat poured out of my body.
And he’d beg under his breath when he thought I was asleep after checking my head in the night for the hundredth time, for me not to be taken from him, not when I’d just come back, not after all we’d both survived to be here right now. -
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