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Content warnings: self-harm, attempted suicide  She feels it the most during time-outs: that awful race again, the sense of hurtling through whatever days she has left. She shivers, and the metal bleachers hurt. Better if she were home. Yet she has a player on the field, number 85, Sonny Mills, her oldest. High school has done something to him. Given him forearms, darkened his jaw. What have the same years done to her? A voice comes from behind: ‘Hey Mills, look alive. Almost first down.’ Her husband left years ago, after taking a hammer to her dogs. The only Mills now is her. ‘Come again?’ ‘It’s third down and two.’ The team has lost to all five opponents this season. They rarely score. On nights like tonight, a first down is cause for cheering. Yet the shutouts make for quicker games, so she says, ‘Third and two, lovely.’ ‘Don’t be salty, Mills. They need this. Your boy needs this.’ Was she being salty? To the contrary, salt has certain curative properties. If she thought it would he

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