Lydia Stewart

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“I love you, Hank,” I say. “I love you too, Polly.” His deep voice breaks. “More than anything.” And then I rest my head against his big, broad chest, and he puts his arm around my shoulders, holding me tightly like everything he cares about is right here in the truck, in the seat next to him. Every pore of his body radiates love for me.
The Crash
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