Every night, when my husband fell asleep. I visited my son's room. "Honey, daddy is asleep." That faint scent, the scent of a man, mixed in with the smell of paint. My son, Billy, was barely a man, over eighteen and a senior in high school. Like most boys his age, he was interested in hobbies and girls. Both worried me. Hobbies, because he enjoyed painting his models. Girls, because
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