I watched him change the way a woman watches a storm approaching over the...
My boy, Caleb, was seven when it started. Seven years old, all knees and elbows and quiet eyes that saw too much for a child who hadn't yet learned to pretend the world was gentler than it is. He lived with me in a house that had once been somebody's plantation home but was now something else entirely—something smaller, something poorer, something that leaned toward the river like a person...
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