Blessed

Aunt Mavis lives on the top floor of this sort of run-down building. The elevator has been broken since the first time I brought Marco to her last year when she became his afternoon sitter. He’s big enough to walk up the whole way now, so that’s something at least. No more of him having tantrums after two steps and demanding to be carried. Small mercies, as they say. The climb up the stairs makes me sweat into my coat …

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