PREVIEW

... ting shadows across the room as I slowly drifted to consciousness. My eyes felt swollen and raw, the aftermath of crying myself to sleep. For one blissful moment, I existed in that liminal space between dreaming and waking, where yesterday’s revelations hadn’t yet resurged in my mind.

Then reality crashed back.

My father wasn’t dead. He never had been.

Every memory, every tear I’d shed at his imaginary grave, every Father’s Day card I’d written and tucked away in my child ...

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