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“No! Please don’t burn that!” I screamed while my father threw my grandmother’s handmade quilt into a flaming barrel behind our house.

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absolutely nothing — but decades later, I came back holding the eviction notice that destroyed him forever.

My name is Bethany. I’m seventeen years old, and tonight the Ohio sky is clogged with thick black smoke. I’m standing barefoot in the backyard of 4892 Ridgewood Drive, trembling in the freezing air while I watch my entire life burn alive.

“This continue reading …

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