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102 - Becca

Fred stood up before the second tear ran down my face, he approached the bed and leaned over, kissing my forehead and cheeks. It didn't hurt either, but the affection with which he touched that region that should certainly be hurt and swollen, moved me to the point of crying even more. When I found myself, I was already getting up and hugging Fred tightly, afraid that it was really a very good dream.

"I'm sorry, Becca," he said, in a fragile voice, failed. I was crying, I noticed before the tears wet my shoulder, where he touched his head, "I'm sorry for taking so long.”

"I also feel," I spoke sincerely.

And nothing that anyone else had said would have made me feel better than him. Only Fred understood that it wasn't good that I was back. That it was no reason to celebrate that I could still have enough conditions to identify the people who hurt me. Because having mental conditions to identify, also made me able to remember and relive all that, for all the days that still came.

Fred u
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