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“Trust your gut. You and your dad had a special thing—even thousands of miles away,” he reminds me.
“We did.”
“You’ve got my number if you need anything, Jilly Bean. I’m here for you, always.”
He pulls me into a hug and kisses the top of my head.
“Thanks, Uncle Will.”
“Never thank me.”
He says it every time. It’s expected, instinctual, just as my gut is telling me my dad isn’t dead.
I won’t believe it without proof.
