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Mother had always said she would come to a bad end, and believed she was proven right. Where they saw success we saw shame, yet I couldn’t suppress the yearning.
I’d clutched her letter to my chest, those wicked dollar bills challenging my resolve. Across the way Mother shared out her never ending judgements.
I’d pictured Cissy dancing in the rain, the beating that had earned her. I wonder if she still bore the scars.
Yet I’d stayed, married the man they chose. It was only when my daughters danced that I understood the cost of my cowardice.
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