I didn’t expect anything when I pulled Tony’s shirt from the laundry basket. It was late. The girls were finally asleep after Amy refused to settle without her green unicorn and Lia panicked over missing gym shorts that were, of course, right where they always were. The dishwasher hummed in the background. I was folding laundry in the living room because loose ends make my skin itch, especially in my own house. Tony’s light blue shirt—the one he wears constantly—was wrinkled and warm from the dryer. When I turned it right-side out, my fingers brushed something stiff in the chest...
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