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A small laugh on her end. “How many?”
“Enough to be… obvious.”
“Black,” I said.
“Broken hearts if you have them.”
“We do,” she said. “Pickup tomorrow.”
I brought an envelope to the shop later that day.
Inside: printed screenshots. Names visible.
Dates visible. No wiggle room.
The woman didn’t ask questions. She just nodded and slid it into the box like she was sealing a curse.
“Some men,” she muttered.
She looked me dead in the eye.
“Honey, make it count.”
Friday night, Harper came over to “help decorate.”
She hugged me. Too tight.
“You look so cute,” she said, staring at my stomach.
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