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didn’t feel victorious.
I felt tired.
And sad.
July, I sent them a gift certificate for a nice dinner, nothing more. My mother called, crying.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “For all of it.”
“I know,” I said. “I forgive you.”
August, Jeffrey showed up at my apartment in jeans and a T-shirt.
He didn’t know how to apologize well, but he tried. He admitted he’d continue reading …
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