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We were never quite close, she and I, even when I was a child. She loves me, I know, and I love her, but it isn’t the kind of attachment that I see in other people. Other families. There’s a kind of polite distance between us, as if we’re strangers who happened to end up together. It’s odd.
What we have is real love, but real love is messy and complicated. How can it not be, with our history?
