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... before I inhale the last few ounces. My eyes stray to the standing frames poised on the mantle, pictures of my son, including the one that was taken from me. Anger spikes and I hurl the glass in the maw of the flagstone hearth as it shatters on impact. I grab the whiskey from the side table to drink it straight from the bottle with my face inclined.

"Papa?"

I splutter a few drops as a few dribble down my chin. I lurch, catching a glimpse of my youngest’s small silhouette as I je ...

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