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The Breaking Point
For months, David’s words had grown sharper. He’d glance at my reflection in shop windows and sigh. He’d compare me to younger women on TV, dismissing me with a wave of his hand. I told myself he was stressed, or maybe I just needed to try harder. But deep down, I knew his love had withered.
One evening, I was folding laundry when he walked in, looked me up and down, and said flatly:
“Emma, this isn’t who I married. You’ve let yourself go. I’m still young, and I won’t stay tied to this forever.”
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