She was apparently hooked up to some machine in those last years. I never bring up the subject, such is the unspoken rule. I rely on subterfuge to gain information, like stealing a glimpse at these pictures I hold. Sometimes strangers are clumsy with their questions, allowing me small insights from the uncomfortable replies. Annually her name is read in remembrance and though I have no memory of her, she haunts me slightly. I have looked at him standing next to me, but he has never given anything away.
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