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My skin crawled, but I let him.
“You made soup?” he asked, looking pleased.
“You said you were stressed.”
“You’re too good to me.”
I almost laughed.
Instead, I smiled and ladled soup into a bowl.
We sat at the dining room table under the chandelier we had chosen together five years earlier. He ate like a man with nothing on his conscience. He complimented continue reading …
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