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window.
I turned it over.
The photo was of me at age five.
Not Marcus.
Me.
I stared at that tiny faded picture until my eyes blurred.
He had been carrying my picture all along.
I had just never known where to look.
Two weeks later, I moved back into the house on Maple Street. Not permanently, not at first. I kept my apartment in the city for work, but I began continue reading …
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