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of us in the living room: Mom in Dad’s leather armchair, Marcus sprawled on the couch, me standing in the doorway like a visitor in my own childhood home.
“I need to ask you something,” I said. “About selling the house.”
Mom looked up from her phone. “What about it?”
“You said we all agreed. We didn’t. No one asked me anything.”
Marcus laughed, a short continue reading …
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