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Two years ago, she married Mike.
She met him at work. She’s a nurse, and he’s a contractor who remodeled the hospital’s outpatient wing. At first, I thought maybe she was coming back to life. Her hair was always done, she laughed more, and she started wearing those bright-colored tops again, the ones she used to love when Dad was around.
One night, I was watching TV when Mike stumbled in at 11:30 p.m., reeking of that same perfume. He didn’t even say hello. He just grunted and went straight to the shower. I looked at Mom sitting on the couch, her hands folded so tightly in her lap that her knuckles turned white.
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