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“Hush little Nikki, don’t say a word. Papi’s gonna buy you a looking glass.” I can still hear his gruff voice lulling me–sometimes when I least expect it. If I close my eyes tightly enough, I can smell the musk of his cologne, feel the stubble from his five o’clock shadow skim my forehead while he sings. If I concentrate long enough, I’m a little girl again, sitting on my grandfather’s knee. His warmth envelops me while we sway gently. His heart beats against my cheek and I inhale the ...
