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She is my mare and my best friend, and I keep waiting for something bad to happen to her, because I love her too much.
I hear laughter and someone asks if I need help, not in a nice way. I snarl, “What I need is for your mother to have thought a little harder nine months before your birthday.”
His righteous anger is a welcome thing to see, even if I don’t think it will help. Sometimes it helps just to have it shared with another person.
