There was a limit to the number of times he could try and reach out, Lindsey had recently discovered.
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It always begins with the tangle of his fingers in her hair...
Sometimes she caught herself thinking about what life would be like in twenty years time...
Her place was (or, at least, ought to be) next to him, holding his hand, but instead she was sitting next to his eldest daughter, simultaneously trying to comfort her and draw comfort from her...
"Mom? Can we go find my room?" Her son tugged on her hand and she tousled his light brown hair affectionately...
One night she returns Mick’s raising of an eyebrow (curious, disbelieving) with a grin, one that Karen would label ‘smug’, maybe even ‘shit-eating’...