between the lines of fear and blame
#4
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     Something flitted behind his eyes, a momentary shadow, and he was unable to hide it. The air between them had changed. She was no longer his mother. She was a stranger that had given him birth and cared for him in his youth; she was a distant memory of a red ghost that even now felt unreal. She should have been there. She should have done something.
     He forced a smile. “I’ve been here,” he said slowly, careful of his tone. “Where have you been?” Why did she smell like another man?
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