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turned, really looking at him—my husband, the father of my kids, the stranger who thought I was a fool. “Everything’s perfect, Dave. Absolutely perfect.”
Three weeks later, over morning coffee, I handed him the divorce papers.
He read them twice, eyes widening. “Lucy, what’s this?”
“Your freedom.” I sipped my coffee. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“I don’t continue reading …
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