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We peeled off our gloves as we reached for a basket.
Bananas, milk, eggs, chicken, soup, potatoes. Nothing special, just what we needed for the week. Maybe I’d throw in some candy for Max and a few packets of pretzels for his lunch.
Definitely, hot cocoa.
“Mom,” Max whispered after a few minutes, tugging gently at my coat. “Look there.”
Near the exit stood an older woman. She wore a thin, faded jacket that looked like it belonged to someone else.
In her arms, she held a small white dog, shaking so hard its entire body quivered.
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