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TWENTY

ROSALEIGH ISABELLÉ

The next morning I walked down from my room leading to the dining area. A part of me eager to start the day.

Dad was seated at the head of the dining table hiding behind his broad sheets while Mama took her seat adjacent to his. The dining area smelled of freshly baked Cinnamon rolls. Mama never baked them until it was Christmas and currently we were in mid year. Not that I complained, I've been a fan of Cinnamon rolls.

I looked around the table in an attempt to find my favourite rolls. When I spotted them, I broke into a run half way through my way. Halting I grabbed a cinnamon roll and was about to devour it when my gaze fell on Mama. She was no longer sitting but standing and carefully observing my moves, a hand on her chest. My sudden run must
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