I watched intently as my sweet pink princess of a daughter played. She was a busy five year-old, spunky and imaginative and always on the move.
She plodded slowly towards me, doll hanging by her side. In her eyes I could see frustration and a touch of sad.
“My doll won’t stand up!”
I took up the porcelain doll and examined her carefully.
“I don’t want her anymore,” she said.
Beneath her doll’s purple satin and lace dress was a piece of metal where a leg used to be. Collateral damage from a little girl adventure, perhaps.
“I don’t want her because she’s broken.”
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