I told myself those things because the alternative was too ugly to name.
And because once you build a life out of trying to keep the peace, your mind becomes very skilled at sanding down splinters until you can pretend they were never sharp.
The call came on a Thursday night in late October.
Rain had been falling since dusk, the cold kind that turns every road in Massachusetts into a ribbon of reflected brake lights and nerves. I was standing in my kitchen with a rotisserie chicken on the counter and a grocery bag half-unpacked when my phone rang from an unknown number.
I almost let it go to voicemail.
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