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“Men need real food,” she wrote. “Not takeout and snacks, sweetheart.”
If I joked, “You’re really invested in our menu,” she smiled tighter.
***
One afternoon, Dolores was sitting on my couch like it was hers, staring around the living room, mug in hand. Andrew was on his phone nearby.
Out of nowhere, she said, “I don’t understand why you still work full-time.”
I blinked.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re married now. That’s not how this is supposed to go.”
My stomach clenched.
Dolores laughed.
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