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them on the table. Her eyes were red-rimmed, not from dramatic crying but from the kind that happens in private and repeatedly. “How long?”
“It’s complicated.”
“That’s a coward’s sentence.”
He exhaled. “There’s a child.”
Something in her face changed, not breaking exactly, but rearranging under strain. “Yours?”
“Yes.”
“How old?”
“Six.”
She stared at him. “Six.continue reading …
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