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Someday, this part of my life will be a long time ago.
The world wasn’t over. Just . . . different than it had been.
It was a puppy’s plea; the promise of boys for whom forever was still too big to mean anything real.
“We are,” I say, taking a step toward him. It feels like giving in to the pull of gravity: inexorable. A relief. “I mean, I am.”
