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Eric was laughing—laughing like a man with no responsibilities, no worries. He looked unburdened by the sick mother or the exhausted wife he had left behind. In that moment, the weight of the last five months, maybe even the last fifteen years, finally lifted. I knew exactly what I was going to do.
The next morning, I brought Julia her breakfast as usual, but I sat on the edge of her bed with a different purpose. I told her the truth. I told her about Eric’s “other plans,” the woman named Demi, the hand-holding at Romano’s. Julia was horrified, her first instinct to blame herself for the strain on our marriage. I stopped her immediately. This wasn’t about her; it was about Eric’s choices. I told her I was leaving, and that the kids would be coming with me.
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