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My name is Lillian Carter, and I’m 62 years old now. But this story began six years ago—when I believed love had given me a second chance at happiness.
He was everything I thought I’d stopped looking for—gentle, attentive, and endlessly patient. His smile had a way of softening the hardest corners of a room. Within months, I found myself drawn to his quiet energy. Against every warning and every whisper of doubt, I let him in.
People called me foolish. They said, “He’s young enough to be your son,” and, “He’s after your money.”
Maybe they were right …
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