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the life I deserve.”
Not we.
Not us.
Not our family.
I waited for the old hurt to rise. It did—but not the way it used to. It no longer swallowed me whole.
It simply confirmed what I had already begun to suspect.
I had married a man who did not love me.
He loved the version of himself he imagined I might help create.
“I thought it could be good for us,” I continue reading …
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