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Dear Ms. 6,
You arrived in a storm.
It’s okay, I whispered, sliding under the kitchen table next to you. I’m scared of storms, too.
I didn’t sleep the first
night week month ever again, slipping into your room to make sure you’re still there. “If you get sick, or scared, or hurt,” I reminded you endlessly, “you just come into my room and wake me up, or call my name, and