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go,” he said, suddenly brisk. “I truly hope you feel better.”
He turned away.
“Thomas.”
He kept walking.
I stood there with tomato sauce on my shoes while an employee knelt to clean the mess and strangers avoided my eyes. I heard someone whisper, “Poor thing.”
They were wrong.
I was not poor. I was terrified. Because as I watched my husband walk toward the continue reading …
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