The Wistful Petal
"The elbow is gone, love. It’s just a bump now. A soft, useless bump." Margaret stood in the doorway of the nursery. She held a wooden spoon in one hand. The other hand gripped the frame. Her knuckles were white. "I know, Maggie," said Thomas. He sat on the edge of the cot. He wore his nightshirt. It was too big. The sleeves hung down past his hands. "It’s not a bone. It’s a mistake. The doctor...
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