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I looked up.
Her face was pale against the pillow, her hair noticeably thinner than it had been just two weeks earlier.
“What kind of mistake?”
Her lips pressed together as she stared up at the ceiling, as though the answer might be written there among the water stains and fluorescent lights.
My chest tightened. “Mom?”
She turned her head toward me.
Her eyes were tired, but calm—too calm—like she had already made peace with something I didn’t yet understand.
My stomach flipped. We were entering dangerous territory now. I could feel it.
