Debbie Readsalotl Books

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I don’t know if I’m breathing. I don’t know if I’m still alive. All I know is that if there’s meaning to life, it’s this. It’s Maisey, beneath me on a furry rug in front of a fireplace, her breath coming in sweet little gasps while she peppers my head with kisses. This is it. This is everything. This is home. And it’s terrifying as all fuck.
Not My Kind of Hero
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