s i x t e e n

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Two days later, she asks me if I still think she's going to survive. I tell her I do.

"Thank you," she replied. "Thank you for believing in me."

"Open this when I'm gone," she says, handing me a bound gray diary.

"You won't be gone," I say, slowly taking the diary from her.

"Whether it be now or in fifty years," she adds. "Open that diary."

"Okay," I say.

"Okay," she says.

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