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“Vancouver? Wait, Ken! I have to call your dad. I need to call Jack. Oh my God. Vancouver? How did you get to Vancou—? How did you get here? Are you okay? Oh my God, Birdie.” “Mom.” She smiles wistfully, like she’s been waiting to hear those words for a long time. “Yeah?” “Do you still have more shopping to do? We can finish getting what you need and then go talk or—” “Jesus Christ! What? No!” She laughs and sniffles. “You’re here! What on earth could I need?” She smiles, covers her mouth with her hand, and stares at me in awe. “Oh my God. I can’t believe you’re here. You’re really here.”
We’re on our way home. Together. “How did you know it was me?” “I just knew.” She smiles.
But none stand a chance against her—because pretty birds eat moths.

