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home.
I stood on the porch and watched my garage fill up with my things.
Gerald’s workbench pushed to the wall. My bicycle hung on a hook. My holiday boxes stacked in the far corner.
And in their place went her sectional sofa, a treadmill, two of my son’s filing cabinets.
I didn’t say anything that day either.
I told myself it was an adjustment period. continue reading …
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