Pulling at the soggy tissue between her fingers, she knew that a part of her would always wish things could have been different. She would always wish that she had been told about the severity of Zoe’s illness and that she’d known the truth about her death. But most of all Jess wished, very simply, that Zoe had never got ill. And that was a wish, she admitted to herself for the first time, that hadn’t been in anyone’s control: not hers, not her mum’s, not Lily’s or their dad’s. Not the doctors’ or nurses’ who had tried so valiantly to cure Zoe. Jess realised that she had spent all these years
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