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On our wedding night, in the house my husband once shared with his late wife, I found a letter hidden in my nightstand. It opened with a chilling warning: “If you’re reading this, he didn’t tell you the truth.” And suddenly, nothing felt safe.
I met Matthew last spring at a friend’s cookout.
Soft-spoken, patient, almost careful with every word he chose.
Even then, I sensed he carried something fragile inside him. I had no idea how right I was.
He told me about his life right away.
“I have a five-year-old daughter, Mia. She’s the most precious thing…” His smile faded. “My wife died in a car accident a year and a half ago.
It’s just my princess and me now.”
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