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The laundromat smelled of lavender and hot metal. Sara pulled clothes from the dryer without looking, her mind still on the argument with her sister. Three months since they'd spoken. The same three months since their mother's funeral.
She folded a man's shirt. Navy blue, worn soft at the collar. Then another. And another. Her hands moved automatically, smoothing wrinkles, aligning seams the way her mother had taught her.
"Those are mine."