"Mama, my 'nowman has 'nopants," she said, glee hidden in the roughness of her sore throat.
My right hand lightly touched her head and traced the soft curls of her hair as I looked over her shoulder. On her paper was a snowman wearing pants, of a sort, and the two of us standing next to it smiling. My broken heart healed a little looking at those smiles-- the first I'd seen since her daddy died.
*** Daily Writing Practice ***
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