“I know that you want Mom to have your name”—he looks down and then up and he has to blink away tears—“but can I have the name, too? I know that I have Mom’s name now …” He doesn’t finish his sentence. I just lean over to him and grab him, yanking him to me. “I don’t care what the fuck your last name is,” I say to him, my arms around him and his arms around me. My hand goes to his head, and I take off his cap and kiss his head. Like I do every single day that we’ve been together. Like I’ll be doing for the rest of his life. “You’re mine.” “Thanks,” he says, and then he says softly. “I won’t
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