Kenneth Bernoska

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“I don’t care if you believe me or not,” he sniffed. “Mommy’s not your real mother. Your real mother’s in jail.” “You’re lying!” “You’ll see when Mommy takes you back to your real mother next week. Why do you think she’s been so nice to you all week?” Suddenly it occurred to me that Mommy had been nice to me all week.
The Color of Water
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