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a boardroom instead of standing in a living room that smelled like formula and fear and the debris of trust shattered.
“Where were you planning to put the cribs?” he asked Matthew.
Matthew swallowed. “It was temporary.”
“Where?”
“At my mother’s.”
“Where at your mother’s?”
Matthew did not answer. Weston did. “The storage room.”
The words sat there. No one continue reading …
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