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lose my life.
That evening, Ethan called. I answered from the hospital bed, smoothing my hair, making my voice sound faint.
“Stress,” I told him. “Low blood pressure. Too much work.”
His relief came too fast. “Thank God. Listen, did you sign those year-end documents?”
Not “are you scared.” Not “do you need me home.”
Documents.
“I’m too dizzy to read contracts,continue reading …
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