Three Days Before the Casket Was Delivered, My Son Asked Me to Sign a Document
“Ma’am?” the dispatcher said in my ear.
“Is the little girl awake?”
“She’s awake,” I said.
“She’s breathing.
She’s only six.”
Julian’s voice came through the panel, far too smooth for what he was saying.
“She’s got a fever.
She’s been talking nonsense all night.
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