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Standing, the woman wipes the grass from her lap, “I’ll see you next month my dear.  I love you.  Your daddy loves you too.  Your brother will love you too when he hears from you.  I know it,” she whispers and places a kiss on her hand that she presses to the small marble stone of her daughter.

I watch her turn and make her way across the grounds to leave.  Just once I wish the woman would turn and look back…

a small angel watches her go from the stone.  The child turns to look at me.  I can see tears streaming from her sheer face.  We stare at each other with a knowing glance.  We are acutely aware of the damage this man she calls the girl’s father, has done to this wistful woman.  I assure the child that not all men are this way and she fades from my sight.

Until next month.

Read more from The Cult of Shameful Shane, by Tricia Lynn, here.

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