“Elsie”
Elsie’s thin hand pressed the afghan into a tight space between her leg and the wheelchair arm. Her sister had crocheted it, this green and orange thing, her lifeline to the outside. “Ready to go back?” A staccato voice. “Yes.” “Eat your desert this time?” “Yes.” “Good girl. Want me to push you?” Her soft blue eyes shifted. “I can do it.” “Good girl, Elsie. It’s important to take care of yourself some. Elsie released the brake, carefully,
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