
Jenny Hua and her mother in Akron, Ohio.
By Jenny Hua
I was eight, and I remember we would always leave at dusk, driving south from Akron to the Ohio town where this man lived. When we arrived it would be dark, and we would park across the street, my parents and I perched in our little burgundy Geo Prizm, eyes steadied on that unassuming house, watching lights flicker on in one room and then another. "He's home," my father would whisper. "Why is he avoiding our calls?" And then we would sit in sile...
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