The Crescent on Her Shoulder
The doctor could not promise it.
Some people never do.
And I baked the rolls anyway, and played the records anyway, and hoped anyway, every day, on purpose, as an act of will and love — and I have never in my life been prouder of anything than of the fact that I did not stop, that I was still hoping on the afternoon a truck came up over a curb and gave her back to me.
Chapter 12 — Who Is He
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