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My Sister Broke Into My Mansion

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arrived at 9:18 a.m. wearing white linen pants and panic.

Her name is Patricia, but everyone calls her Patty, which suits her. Soft on the edges. Spills easily.

She came in through my broken front door without knocking, saw the deputies, and pressed both hands to her chest.

“Claire, what have you done?”

Not “are you okay.”

Not “why is your door broken.”

What continue reading …

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