I could see him clearly, his hair a coppery red in the lamplight. His square jaw covered in several days-worth of a beard. Straight nose. Eyes the color of pine. “What a pretty, little flower. What a pretty poppy.” Papa leaned in, kissing the crown of my head. “I love you more than all the stars in the sky.” “I love you more than all the fish in the sea.” “That’s my girl.” Papa’s hands trembled on my cheeks. “Cora?” Momma came forward, her face pale. “You should’ve known she would find a way down here.” She glanced over her shoulder. “You trust him?” “I do,” he said as Momma took my hand in
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