Part 11:
link They sit quietly for a moment, still pondering the strange coincidence about their mothers.
I need to hold him. Gwen leans over and puts her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulder. He kisses her forehead, and notices a scar there, about an inch long, faint but there.
“Where did آپ get this?” he pokes it with his finger.
“I walked into the باورچی خانے, باورچی خانہ میز, جدول when I was three,” she tells him. He laughs, and she protests, “I suppose آپ have no scars from something dumb آپ accidentally did as a...
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