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... words I heard from my drunken father one night.

He said my mom died giving birth to me.

He apologized for not telling me sooner.

Though I heard those words, as a nine-year-old child, I couldn’t find any trace of regret in my father.

All I felt was confusion.

Why was he knocking on my door in the middle of the night to pour out his grievances?

Looking back now, with a bit more maturity, maybe something upsetting had piled up outside, and he needed s ...

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*

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