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My Sister Broke Into My Mansion

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like a warning. The hurricane-proof front door – ajar. Cartoons blaring. Grease in the air.

I stepped into my own foyer and heard a man I barely tolerate say, without turning around, “You’re tracking sand into our house.”

Our house.

He stood – broad, smug, blocking my living room. Derek. My brother-in-law. And there, in the sunrise chair I bought for continue reading …

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