Christy Pommier

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breath. I tried not to swear in front of Noah, knowing that anything I said in the sanctity of my own home would no doubt be repeated in the playground and then reported back to me via the officious school secretary, as evidence of my shoddy single parenting. I assumed it was the postman whom I’d known since school and who wouldn’t even notice that I was screaming at the kids, but when I opened the door, mid-shout, it wasn’t him at all.
Where The Story Starts
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