PART 3   I stared at the hospital bracelet in the lunchbox until the letters of my own name blurred.

cards Walter had written but never sent.

For Avery, age 5. You have your mother’s eyes.

For Avery, age 9. I saw your school play from the back door. You forgot one line and kept going. That was brave.

For Avery, age 16. I know you hate bringing dinner. I don’t blame you.

That one made me sit on the concrete floor.

I opened it carefully.

Dear Avery,

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