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Squares of windows in boxes of concrete are framed by Suzanne’s floor to ceiling view, thirty floors up. She shuffles papers around anxiously. Nothing is really wrong in her life per se, but she cannot get rid of that flutter, right behind her heart and above her stomach. She has watched as her kids have grown out of clothes and toys. This morning, she finally got rid of the last of the “junk,” a huge plastic basketball hoop, that Tyler hasn’t used in years. A steady job in a career of her choosing, a loving husband, and two kids. But she thinks to herself, “Is this it?”

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