The restraining order has been sitting in my wallet so long, I think the two of them have melded together. I should burn it. He's dead. That man can't come near me once they've locked him in his casket.
I should frame it. Any time I should begin to forget what he did, I'll glance up and see it through the glass. Even when the children ask me questions, I'll be able to tell them the truth. Even when I begin to go soft, he can't hurt me again.
Perhaps I should file it away, and try to forget it ever happened. This way no one else would ever forget, but I could, at least for a little while.
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