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AFTER MONTHS OF MY DAUGHTER “HELPING” WITH MY BILLS, HIDING MY BANK STATEMENTS, TAKING MY DEBIT CARD

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yourself to fit somebody else’s denial.

I still miss parts of the easier version of us. Of course I do. There are days I wish I could call Alyssa without mentally checking the weather of the conversation. There are moments, usually small ones—a recipe Tom liked, a cardigan I think would suit her, a joke overheard in line at the pharmacy—when I reach continue reading …

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