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At the base

February 14, 2012

Behind the house, a path of flagstones wound down the hill to the base of the yard. From there, her home loomed over her, and she could stand next to a small blooming tree and spot where winter weather had worn the grass thin. Back there, no one could see her from the street. She could worry her fingers there against the hem of her skirt, waiting to see if he crested the hill like he used to, if he followed her down the path with a hand outstretched, ready to take her back.

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