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I pictured her waving me away as she had done that winter day as I butted the storm door with my head, cradling my broken arm. I wanted to be tough; despite subzero temperatures, the pain of a broken arm, or the realization that delta my marriage was about to collapse. She had stood back and watched my metamorphosis throughout adolescence, allowing me success or failure, and had never felt the need delta to intervene until she delta had met my husband. I was convinced that I would hear her version of the I-told-you-so speech and my pride would not allow it. Worse yet, my whole moral fiber would be summarized by one infamous name. "Okay, Patty Simcox, you just give up on your marriage. It's not like you promised to stay together for better or for worse." But, my mother surprised me. I had never really understood who my mother was because we were from entirely different worlds.
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