cnu-At my fortieth birthday party, my sister swung a baseball bat into…

in the hallway, one hand against the wall, crying silently.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“For what?”

“I couldn’t look.”

I held his face.

“I looked for both of us.”

And I had.

I forced myself to see every photograph. Not because I needed convincing. Because my daughter had lived through the pain those pictures captured. Looking away felt like another betrayal.

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