A towel.<\/p>\n
That was the first thing I remembered.<\/p>\n
Not my father.<\/p>\n
Not my mother.<\/p>\n
A towel.<\/p>\n
An old yellow bath towel spread across the living-room carpet.<\/p>\n
Then my mother\u2019s voice:<\/p>\n
\u201cStraight back, Sarah. Don\u2019t bend.\u201d<\/p>\n
I grabbed the edge of the doctor\u2019s desk.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh my God.\u201d<\/p>\n
Dr. Anderson leaned forward.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat are you remembering?\u201d<\/p>\n
I closed my eyes.<\/p>\n
And suddenly I was seven again.<\/p>\n
Bare feet.<\/p>\n
Yellow towel.<\/p>\n
My father standing behind me.<\/p>\n
My mother holding a kitchen timer.<\/p>\n
And a wooden broom handle pressed horizontally across my back.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe posture game,\u201d I whispered.<\/p>\n
The doctor didn\u2019t react dramatically.<\/p>\n
He simply asked:<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat happened during it?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d<\/p>\n
That was true.<\/p>\n
I had fragments.<\/p>\n
My father squeezing me tightly.<\/p>\n
My mother examining my shoulders.<\/p>\n
Books balanced on my head.<\/p>\n
Being told to stand against a wall.<\/p>\n
A broom handle.<\/p>\n
Pain.<\/p>\n
Crying.<\/p>\n
And afterward, Mom saying:<\/p>\n
\u201cYou want to grow up straight and beautiful, don\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n
Then another memory surfaced.<\/p>\n
A belt.<\/p>\n
Not for hitting.<\/p>\n
For tying.<\/p>\n
My stomach turned.<\/p>\n
\u201cThey tied something around me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMy waist, maybe. My back.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked at him.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d<\/p>\n
Dr. Anderson stopped asking questions.<\/p>\n
That mattered.<\/p>\n
He didn\u2019t keep pushing me to produce memories I wasn\u2019t certain about.<\/p>\n
Instead, he said:<\/p>\n
\u201cWe need to separate what you remember from what we can establish about your daughters.\u201d<\/p>\n
Then he brought in another clinician who specialized in evaluating children when there were concerns about possible mistreatment.<\/p>\n
Emily and Lily were interviewed separately.<\/p>\n
I was not in the room.<\/p>\n
At first, I hated that.<\/p>\n
I wanted to be beside them.<\/p>\n
But I understood why.<\/p>\n
Nobody wanted me accidentally supplying answers.<\/p>\n
Nobody wanted my memories becoming theirs.<\/p>\n
What the girls eventually described was disturbing.<\/p>\n
But not in the way my terrified mind had begun imagining.<\/p>\n
My father had not been sexually abusing them.<\/p>\n
There was no evidence of that.<\/p>\n
The \u201cgame\u201d was something my mother called Strong Little Backs<\/strong>.<\/p>\n She believed both girls had poor posture.<\/p>\n Why?<\/p>\n Because a school photograph showed Lily standing with one shoulder slightly higher than the other.<\/p>\n Mom decided the twins had inherited what she called my \u201cweak spine.\u201d<\/p>\n She never took them to a doctor.<\/p>\n She diagnosed them herself.<\/p>\n Then she decided to correct it.<\/p>\n Every Saturday evening, after dinner, she had the girls change into leggings and T-shirts.<\/p>\n She made them stand against a wall.<\/p>\n Then Dad wrapped his arms around them from behind and pulled their shoulders backward.<\/p>\n Those were the \u201chugs.\u201d<\/p>\n But they weren\u2019t affectionate hugs.<\/p>\n They were stretches.<\/p>\n Forceful ones.<\/p>\n My father would hold each girl while my mother counted.<\/p>\n Twenty seconds.<\/p>\n Thirty.<\/p>\n Sometimes longer.<\/p>\n If they cried, Dad loosened his grip.<\/p>\n Mom told him:<\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t. They need to learn to tolerate it.\u201d<\/p>\n Then came the game.<\/p>\n My mother had bought elastic resistance bands online.<\/p>\n She had also kept an old rigid posture brace from decades earlier.<\/p>\n She would position the girls on the floor and make them perform exercises she remembered from my childhood.<\/p>\n Some involved pulling their legs toward their chests.<\/p>\n Others involved keeping their knees straight while my father pushed their upper bodies forward.<\/p>\n And one involved placing a rolled towel beneath their lower backs while my mother pressed their shoulders toward the floor.<\/p>\n \u201cDid they ever fall?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n The clinician shook her head.<\/p>\n \u201cNeither girl described a fall.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDid Dad hit them?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDid Mom?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n That almost made me feel relieved.<\/p>\n Almost.<\/p>\n Then she continued.<\/p>\n \u201cBoth girls repeatedly said they told your parents the exercises hurt.\u201d<\/p>\n I looked away.<\/p>\n \u201cAnd your mother told them pain meant the exercises were working.\u201d<\/p>\n The imaging didn’t show catastrophic injuries.<\/p>\n No broken vertebrae.<\/p>\n No hidden tumor.<\/p>\n No dramatic surgical emergency.<\/p>\n What the doctors found was much less cinematic and, to me, somehow more infuriating.<\/p>\n Both girls had significant muscle strain and inflammation consistent with repeated physical stress.<\/p>\n Lily’s symptoms were worse.<\/p>\n There was also enough concern about the pattern and the children’s descriptions that further follow-up was recommended.<\/p>\n The doctors couldn’t look at a scan and identify one exact movement responsible.<\/p>\n Bodies don’t always tell stories that neatly.<\/p>\n But they could tell me one thing with confidence:<\/p>\n My daughters were in pain.<\/p>\n They had repeatedly said so.<\/p>\n And the adults caring for them had continued.<\/p>\n \u201cWhy didn’t they tell me?\u201d<\/p>\n I asked the question while sitting beside their hospital beds.<\/p>\n Emily heard me.<\/p>\n \u201cGrandma said you’d stop bringing us.\u201d<\/p>\n I looked at her.<\/p>\n \u201cI would have.\u201d<\/p>\n Her little face crumpled.<\/p>\n \u201cBut then Grandpa would be sad.\u201d<\/p>\n Lily whispered:<\/p>\n \u201cAnd Grandma said you used to cry too, but you thanked them when you got older.\u201d<\/p>\n I felt physically sick.<\/p>\n \u201cI thanked them?\u201d<\/p>\n Both girls nodded.<\/p>\n I had never said that.<\/p>\n Not once.<\/p>\n That afternoon, I called my parents.<\/p>\n Not alone.<\/p>\n I’d been advised not to conduct some dramatic interrogation myself, especially while professionals were still documenting what the girls had reported.<\/p>\n But I needed one thing immediately.<\/p>\n I told them the girls would not be returning.<\/p>\n Mom started crying.<\/p>\n \u201cSarah, you’re misunderstanding everything.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDid you make them do exercises?\u201d<\/p>\n Silence.<\/p>\n \u201cMom?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThey slouch.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThey’re seven.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cExactly. You correct these things while they’re young.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDid they tell you it hurt?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThey complained.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat wasn’t my question.\u201d<\/p>\n My father spoke in the background.<\/p>\n \u201cNancy, stop.\u201d<\/p>\n Then he took the phone.<\/p>\n \u201cSarah.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDid they tell you it hurt?\u201d<\/p>\n His voice became quiet.<\/p>\n \u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n I closed my eyes.<\/p>\n \u201cAnd you kept doing it?\u201d<\/p>\n Another silence.<\/p>\n \u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n That was enough.<\/p>\n Mom grabbed the phone again.<\/p>\n \u201cYou don’t understand because you don’t remember how bad your back was.\u201d<\/p>\n Something inside me snapped into focus.<\/p>\n \u201cNo, Mom. I’m starting to remember.\u201d<\/p>\n She stopped talking.<\/p>\n \u201cThe yellow towel.\u201d<\/p>\n Silence.<\/p>\n \u201cThe broom handle.\u201d<\/p>\n Still nothing.<\/p>\n \u201cThe belt.\u201d<\/p>\n Then I heard her inhale.<\/p>\n \u201cSarah, those were therapeutic exercises.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cPrescribed by whom?\u201d<\/p>\n No answer.<\/p>\n \u201cWhich doctor, Mom?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe couldn’t afford specialists back then.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSo you invented treatment?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMy sister had scoliosis. We knew what happened if these things were ignored.\u201d<\/p>\n There it was.<\/p>\n Not cruelty for pleasure.<\/p>\n Fear.<\/p>\n Ignorance.<\/p>\n Control.<\/p>\n And the absolute conviction that fear gave her the right to hurt a child for that child’s own good.<\/p>\n My aunt had developed severe scoliosis as a teenager and eventually required surgery.<\/p>\n Mom had been thirteen when it happened.<\/p>\n She remembered hospital rooms.<\/p>\n Pain.<\/p>\n A brace.<\/p>\n My grandmother blaming herself for not noticing sooner.<\/p>\n Years later, when I was a child, Mom became obsessed with my posture.<\/p>\n One shoulder looked higher.<\/p>\n I occasionally complained of back pain.<\/p>\n Instead of having me properly evaluated, my parents tried to prevent in me what had happened to my aunt.<\/p>\n Some of the exercises came from old physical-therapy sheets.<\/p>\n Others came from relatives.<\/p>\n Some, apparently, they simply invented.<\/p>\n \u201cDid you do this to me every week?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFor almost a year,\u201d Mom said.<\/p>\n \u201cWhy don’t I remember?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou do remember.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo. I remember pieces.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou hated it.\u201d<\/p>\n Her voice softened.<\/p>\n \u201cYou used to hide when it was time.\u201d<\/p>\n My eyes filled with tears.<\/p>\n \u201cAnd you continued?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe thought we were helping.\u201d<\/p>\n That sentence.<\/p>\n I would hear it many times over the next year.<\/p>\n There was another reason my memories were fragmented.<\/p>\n Nothing mystical.<\/p>\n Nothing had been chemically erased.<\/p>\n I had simply been young, frightened, and then spent decades in a family where those events were never discussed.<\/p>\n When I complained about them as a child, Mom renamed them.<\/p>\n Not pain.<\/p>\n Correction.<\/strong><\/p>\n Not restraint.<\/p>\n Posture support.<\/strong><\/p>\n Not fear.<\/p>\n Being dramatic.<\/strong><\/p>\n Eventually, I stopped talking about it.<\/p>\n Then I grew up.<\/p>\n Memory did what memory sometimes does.<\/p>\n It faded unevenly.<\/p>\n The most painful conversation was with Dad.<\/p>\n He came to my house alone several weeks later.<\/p>\n I didn’t let him inside.<\/p>\n We sat on the porch.<\/p>\n He looked older than seventy-two.<\/p>\n \u201cYour mother was always the one pushing it,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n I stared at him.<\/p>\n \u201cYou held them.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou held me.\u201d<\/p>\n His eyes dropped.<\/p>\n \u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThen don’t sit here and make Mom the entire problem.\u201d<\/p>\n He nodded slowly.<\/p>\n \u201cYou’re right.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhy did you keep going when Lily cried?\u201d<\/p>\n He wiped his face.<\/p>\n \u201cBecause Nancy kept saying stopping halfway would make it worse.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnd you believed her?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAt first.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAt first?\u201d<\/p>\n He began crying.<\/p>\n \u201cLater, I think I just didn’t want another fight with your mother.\u201d<\/p>\n I stared at him.<\/p>\n \u201cYou hurt two seven-year-olds because you didn’t want an argument?\u201d<\/p>\n He had no answer.<\/p>\n Sometimes there isn’t one.<\/p>\n My mother reacted differently.<\/p>\n She became defensive.<\/p>\n Then furious.<\/p>\n Then wounded.<\/p>\n She told relatives I was accusing them of \u201ctorturing\u201d their grandchildren.<\/p>\n I hadn’t used that word.<\/p>\n She told people doctors were overreacting.<\/p>\n She sent me articles about posture.<\/p>\n Old exercise diagrams.<\/p>\n A photograph of me at eight standing straighter than I had at seven.<\/p>\n As though a photograph could justify pain.<\/p>\n Finally, I blocked her for a while.<\/p>\n Not as punishment.<\/p>\n Because every conversation became an attempt to make me doubt what my daughters had told me.<\/p>\n And I was done teaching them that an adult’s feelings mattered more than their own pain.<\/p>\n The girls recovered.<\/p>\n Not overnight.<\/p>\n They had medical follow-up and appropriate guidance.<\/p>\n More importantly, they learned something I’d never learned at seven.<\/p>\n If an adult touches, stretches, hugs, tickles, exercises, restrains, or plays with you in a way that hurts or frightens you, you are allowed to say stop.<\/p>\n Even if that adult loves you.<\/p>\n Especially then.<\/p>\n Love doesn’t cancel the word no<\/strong>.<\/p>\n One evening, several months later, Lily asked:<\/p>\n \u201cIs Grandpa bad?\u201d<\/p>\n I had spent weeks wondering how I’d answer if one of them asked.<\/p>\n \u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n She frowned.<\/p>\n \u201cBut he hurt us.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThen he’s bad.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cPeople can do bad things without every part of them being bad.\u201d<\/p>\n Emily was listening from the couch.<\/p>\n \u201cDo we have to forgive him?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cEver?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDo we have to see him?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNot right now.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cEver?\u201d<\/p>\n I took a breath.<\/p>\n \u201cThat will depend on whether you want to, whether it’s safe, and what changes. You won’t be forced to hug anyone.\u201d<\/p>\n Lily immediately asked:<\/p>\n \u201cEven Grandpa?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cEven Grandpa.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cEven Grandma?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cEven Grandma.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cEven you?\u201d<\/p>\n That one hurt.<\/p>\n But it was the most important.<\/p>\n \u201cEven me.\u201d<\/p>\n My father eventually began taking responsibility in a way my mother didn’t.<\/p>\n He stopped saying:<\/p>\n Your mother made me.<\/strong><\/p>\n Instead:<\/p>\n I should have stopped.<\/strong><\/p>\n He wrote the girls an apology.<\/p>\n I had a therapist review it before they received it.<\/p>\n There was no request for forgiveness.<\/p>\n No \u201cGrandpa misses you.\u201d<\/p>\n No \u201cI only did it because I love you.\u201d<\/p>\n He wrote:<\/p>\n You told me I was hurting you, and I didn’t stop. Adults are supposed to listen when children say they are in pain. I failed to do that.<\/strong><\/p>\n Emily read it twice.<\/p>\n Then put it in a drawer.<\/p>\n Lily didn’t want to read it at all.<\/p>\n Both choices were respected.<\/p>\n My mother took much longer.<\/p>\n Almost two years.<\/p>\n Her first real apology came after she finally saw a specialist herself about the spinal problems she had become increasingly obsessed with.<\/p>\n The doctor explained something nobody had apparently been able to make her hear before:<\/p>\n You don’t prevent every spinal condition by forcing children into straighter positions.<\/p>\n Pain isn’t proof that an exercise is effective.<\/p>\n And family history is a reason to seek appropriate medical evaluation\u2014not permission to invent treatment.<\/p>\n Mom called me afterward.<\/p>\n \u201cI thought I was preventing what happened to Aunt Carol.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI thought I was helping you too.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI was wrong.\u201d<\/p>\n I waited.<\/p>\n No but<\/strong>.<\/p>\n No explanation.<\/p>\n Just:<\/p>\n \u201cI was wrong.\u201d<\/p>\n It was the first useful thing she’d said about it.<\/p>\n Rebuilding contact happened slowly.<\/p>\n My daughters did not resume weekend sleepovers.<\/p>\n That ended permanently.<\/p>\n For a long time, visits happened with me present.<\/p>\n No forced affection.<\/p>\n No exercises.<\/p>\n No secrets.<\/p>\n No telling the girls to hide something from Mom.<\/p>\n And before the first visit, I made my parents hear the rule directly from Emily and Lily.<\/p>\n Emily said:<\/p>\n \u201cIf I say stop, you stop.\u201d<\/p>\n Dad answered:<\/p>\n \u201cImmediately.\u201d<\/p>\n Mom started crying.<\/p>\n Lily looked at her.<\/p>\n \u201cGrandma, crying doesn’t change the rule.\u201d<\/p>\n I had to look away.<\/p>\n My seven-year-old had learned in months what it had taken me thirty-five years to understand.<\/p>\n Years later, when the twins were twelve, Emily joined a gymnastics program.<\/p>\n At her first practice, the coach helped adjust her position during a stretch.<\/p>\n Emily immediately said:<\/p>\n \u201cThat hurts.\u201d<\/p>\n The coach released her.<\/p>\n \u201cOkay. Let’s change it.\u201d<\/p>\n That was all.<\/p>\n No argument.<\/p>\n No accusation that she was weak.<\/p>\n No insistence that pain meant progress.<\/p>\n Just:<\/p>\n Okay.<\/strong><\/p>\n I sat in the bleachers and unexpectedly started crying.<\/p>\n Another mother asked if I was all right.<\/p>\n I smiled.<\/p>\n \u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n And for once, I really was.<\/p>\n I used to believe my childhood memory returned that day in the hospital because some terrible secret had finally forced its way out.<\/p>\n That’s not exactly what happened.<\/p>\n There was no single monstrous revelation.<\/p>\n My parents hadn’t belonged to some sinister group.<\/p>\n There was no hidden dungeon.<\/p>\n No shocking ritual.<\/p>\n The truth was more ordinary.<\/p>\n And that made it more useful.<\/p>\n Two adults had become convinced they knew what was best for a child’s body.<\/p>\n The child said it hurt.<\/p>\n They believed their intentions mattered more than her words.<\/p>\n Then, decades later, they repeated the same mistake with her daughters.<\/p>\n And my mother added the most damaging part:<\/p>\n Don’t tell Mom.<\/strong><\/p>\n That was the moment concern became secrecy.<\/p>\n The moment a misguided belief became something my daughters had to carry alone.<\/p>\n Emily and Lily are fifteen now.<\/p>\n They still see their grandparents occasionally.<\/p>\n Dad never hugs them without asking.<\/p>\n Sometimes they say yes.<\/p>\n Sometimes they don’t.<\/p>\n Mom no longer comments on their posture.<\/p>\n And nobody in our family uses love as an explanation for ignoring a boundary.<\/p>\n Last Christmas, Dad opened his arms when the girls arrived.<\/p>\n Then he stopped himself.<\/p>\n \u201cCan I?\u201d<\/p>\n Lily smiled.<\/p>\n \u201cSide hug.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSide hug it is.\u201d<\/p>\n Emily simply said:<\/p>\n \u201cNot today.\u201d<\/p>\n Dad nodded.<\/p>\n \u201cOkay.\u201d<\/p>\n Nobody died from rejection.<\/p>\n Nobody stopped loving anybody.<\/p>\n The room didn’t collapse.<\/p>\n That simple moment would have seemed impossible in my childhood.<\/p>\n For years, I thought a loving family was one where children trusted adults.<\/p>\n Now I think that’s only half of it.<\/p>\n A safe family is also one where adults believe children when they say something hurts.<\/p>\n My daughters had told us the truth from the beginning.<\/p>\n Grandpa hugs us too hard.<\/strong><\/p>\n The adults were the ones who kept translating their words into something easier to hear.<\/p>\n Growing pains.<\/p>\n Sensitivity.<\/p>\n Affection.<\/p>\n Discipline.<\/p>\n Love.<\/p>\n The doctor didn’t uncover the secret because of some miraculous test.<\/p>\n He did something far simpler.<\/p>\n He listened to my daughters without first deciding what their pain was supposed to mean.<\/p>\n And when I finally did the same, I realized the terrible secret wasn’t the game my parents had played.<\/p>\n It was the lesson they’d attached to it:<\/p>\n If someone loves you, endure the pain so you don’t hurt their feelings.<\/strong><\/p>\n That was the inheritance I refused to pass on.<\/p>\n My daughters learned a different lesson.<\/p>\n Love can survive the word no<\/strong>.<\/p>\n And if it can’t, it was never safe love to begin with.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" A towel. That was the first thing I remembered. Not my father. Not my mother. A towel. An old yellow bath towel spread across the living-room carpet. Then my mother\u2019s voice: \u201cStraight back, Sarah. Don\u2019t bend.\u201d I grabbed the edge of the doctor\u2019s desk. \u201cOh my God.\u201d Dr. Anderson leaned forward. \u201cWhat are you remembering?\u201d […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":5187,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-9301","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-interesting"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/tappyli.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9301","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/tappyli.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/tappyli.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tappyli.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tappyli.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=9301"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/tappyli.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9301\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":9302,"href":"https:\/\/tappyli.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9301\/revisions\/9302"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tappyli.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/5187"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/tappyli.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=9301"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tappyli.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=9301"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tappyli.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=9301"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
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