The Adoption
The house on Birchwood Lane was the kind of house that existed to prove that someone had made it. White siding, green shutters, a manicured lawn that sloped gently toward a driveway that led to a garage that held a car that was driven three days a week and parked five. Inside: white sofa, cream armchairs, a coffee table with a basket of decorative pillows that nobody sat on because they would...
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