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John sat in the front seat of his car and looked at the door of the apartment building. Every mile of the five-hour journey he had thought about his mother and the last time they spoke. They had gotten into a screaming match about something he couldn’t even remember anymore. The yelling had ended when he stormed off and swore that he would never speak to her again. Now three years later, he was sitting in the parking lot looking at the door he had slammed behind him so long ago. He was looking at it and wondering how he could possibly go through that door.