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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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hands.

I knew exactly what I was going to do.

But stepping into that courthouse meant facing the monster who haunted my nightmares for six years.

Part 3

Freezing rain covered Dayton the morning of the foreclosure auction.

I stood in the back of the crowded courthouse wearing a sharp tailored suit. When the auctioneer announced 4892 Ridgewood Drive, my pulse continue reading …

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