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Two Women at a Café
Her reply came an hour later: I had no idea. He told me he was divorced.
We met at a small café. She was younger. Pretty in the fragile way of someone who still believes promises. She slid her phone across the table: texts, photos, a parallel life running beside mine.
I studied her face. Anger flared, but not at her. She hadn’t made vows to me. She was just another piece in his web of lies.
For the first time, I realized my fury was no longer tangled with doubt. I knew.
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