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And when my husband became ill, he asked this man to watch over me quietly, in case something unresolved ever surfaced. That “something” arrived in the form of official letters meant for my husband—papers revealing he had a son from long before we met, a child who now had no living parent. My husband hadn’t hidden betrayal from me; he had hidden uncertainty, fear, and unfinished responsibility, believing he would have time to explain.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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