I look like my father. While I have my mothers facial shape, I have my fathers features and colouring.
Pickle is the spitting image of me, but with Mr Duncan's darker colouring. I have black and white pictures of myself as a baby that could easily be mistaken for Pickle now.
When my mother was in the emergency room, hooked up to 5 drips and a heart machine, she kept arching back and craning her neck to try and read the monitor behind her (she used to be a nurse).
There was something about that movement. In her determination to see. In the curve of her neck, the set of her jaw... her vulnerability... I saw my baby daughter.
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