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The nurses had warned me not to expect much. They hadn’t seen her smile in weeks, they said, sounding as though they’d already given up.
Her room was undecorated and gray, crowded with machines whose chorus of irritating beeping never ceased. I paused at the entrance, horrified by the numerous plastic tubes penetrating her tiny abdomen. My eyes moved from her stomach to her hands, clenched around a stuffed unicorn, her sole companion on a Friday night.
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