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Saturday, July 11
“Steve?” Sally’s voice floats down from our bedroom at the top of the stairs. “I’m almost ready. Are the girls okay?”
“They’re fine,” I call back automatically, staring into the downstairs bathroom mirror. I give one final tug on my tie, walk out of the bathroom, and step over the baby gate that guards the living-room entrance, separating that space from the rest of our small house like a barbed-wire fence around a POW camp. I survey the scene.
Katie is hunched over her play stove in
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