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Months later, in our old house with a courtyard in New Orleans.
Julian’s wounds had mostly healed, but I still forced him to rest often.
“I’m really fine,” he protested, trying to get up from the lounge chair to deal with some paperwork.
“Stay down,” I said, pushing him back and handing him a glass of juice. “The doctor said no overexertion until you’re fully recovered.”
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