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ad me committed, I finally escaped. I went straight to my mother's
emorial for a dog named Princess Fluffykins. My
costing me every job offer. Then, during a critical heart surgery, Arthur-my surgeon-
my mother in her final hours. The man I ha
d me. When Arthur returned, begging for forgiveness, I looked
oel. You were jus
pte
carf was clutched in my hand, its silk worn soft from years of use. It smelled faint
e white room, the heavy-lidded eyes of the orderlies, and Arthur. Arthur, standing tall and pristine, whi
he pills, anything. Just let me handle
sant specimen under a microscope. "Alexandra, darling," he' d said, his voice dripping with false concern, "yo
beautiful plot, a quiet ceremony. A place w
e of her peaceful resting place was the only thing I clung to. My life,Three long,
ed. I clawed at the walls. I begged the nurses for a phone, for a voice. They just gave me another shot. The restraints were rough, digging into my wrists, leaving bruises I st
r, elderly and kind, stood a few feet away.
he autumn chill seeping into my bo
mother' s plot is just over this rise, near the old oak. It' s a quiet
o, that' s not right." He squinted, then shook his head. "Ah, you mean the Mason plot, cor
Three years of waiting to stand at her grave. My legs protested, weak from disuse, but a wa
d white. Not the weathered granite I expect
ere lies Princess Fluffykins. Beloved compa

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