
Imagine this as Mia's Nighty....
Things seemed pretty normal the next morning, at least at first. While emma busied herself fixing scrambled eggs for the three of us, Mia, still wearing the faded old rock concert t-shirt that she typically slept in, dutifully set the table, brought out the orange juice and poured three cups of coffee. Then she sat at the kitchen table a couple of feet away from me and started talking.




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