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“Please, arrest me. I’d rather go to jail than go back to that house…”

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the draft and into the stark, warm light of the kitchen.

My emergency room instincts took over entirely. I rapidly stripped away his sodden, dripping outer jacket, grimacing at how little he weighed. I enveloped his fragile frame in a heavy, insulated fleece blanket and hastily microwaved a steaming mug of chicken broth. I slid it across the marble continue reading …

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