She had. My father had been dead for nineteen years, and Mom had built her life around needing as little from other people as possible. But this time, I refused to let her do everything alone.
“You’re staying with me,” I said.
“Sara.”
“You’re staying with us.”
“I don’t want to be in the way.”
“You won’t be.”
Then she asked the question she was really worried about.
“Gabriel?”
I told her I had already spoken to him. Technically, that was true.
Gabriel had not been enthusiastic.
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