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eyes met mine.
“Yes.”
The room went silent.
That one hurt differently.
Dad’s betrayal was architecture. I had lived inside it so long I knew every hallway.
Mom’s betrayal had always been wallpaper. Softer. Easier to pretend wasn’t structural.
I turned away.
“Mara—”
“You should leave.”
“We’re not done.”
“Yes,” I said. “We are.”
He looked suddenly alarmed. “About continue reading …
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