When I called to talk to my parents last weekend, as I have every weekend in the four years since surgery, Dad went to wake Mom from a nap. I heard him ask, “Do you want to speak to Mary?” and she asked, “Who’s Mary?” (By the time she answered the phone, she remembered me.)
I have always believed that I am the favorite. Maybe not.
A Photograph of me without me in it
A photograph of me without me in it
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