“What happened that day?” he asked. When I lost my sight? “I fell,” replied. “From a treehouse. I hit my head twice on the way down. Optic nerve damage. Irreparable.” “Were you pushed?” I closed my right fist, still remembering the terrible feeling of the boy’s hand slowly slipping out of it and knowing that was all that was standing between me and the ground far below. I wasn’t pushed. Not exactly. “I shouldn’t have been up there.” My voice had lowered to a mumble. “I wish I’d never met him. I wish I’d never gone up there with him. I…” How very different my life would be if I could change
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