I counted the letters. There were 43 of them. They were all addressed to me in the same handwriting.
Mother had not had a heart attack. Mother had not died. Mother had been alive all the time. And Father had lied about this.
I could see him touching me, like I was watching a film of what was happening in the room, but I could hardly feel his hand at all. It was like the wind blowing against me.
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