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Ryan had said it first, like it was sweet. Like it belonged to me. People laughed when he did.
And just like that, what little voice I had left became a punchline.
“I didn’t know what to do,” he said quickly. “I was 17, Tara. I froze.
I thought… if I ignored it, maybe it would go away. I figured that you had it handled, you did date the guy after all.
If anyone knew how manipulative he was… it would have been you.”
“I know.”
“You helped craft an image of me, Ryan. You just twisted it to give them a nickname for me.
Whispers? What the hell was that?”
My husband’s voice cracked as he spoke.
“I didn’t mean to. They started joking, and I panicked. I didn’t want to be next.
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