I almost let him go. Not to the river under that black-iced bridge outside Xenia, where the guardrail buckled and the world split open, but to a colder place—a dial tone and a sentence that carved me clean through: “I don’t want to talk to you anymore.” When Kevin hung up, the silence afterward was so sharp it felt like punishment, like proof that every choice I’d made since his parents died had been wrong. I sat on the same sagging couch where he used to curl his bare feet under my thigh and say, “I saved you the warm sp… Continues…
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