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I miss you and the kids. I messed everything up, and I know that now. Can we talk?
Please?”
When he showed up the following Saturday, I barely recognized him. He looked so much older than I remembered, tired, bloated, and desperate.
His clothes didn’t fit quite right, and there was something defeated in the way he carried himself.
He stared at me for a long moment when I opened the door.
“You look amazing,” he said softly. “Really, Lena. You look better than you have in years.”
I smiled at him.
“I’ve always looked this way, Derek. You just stopped seeing me.”
He didn’t have a response to that. He just nodded, his eyes getting glassy with tears he didn’t let fall, and went inside to collect his box of belongings.
When he left, I closed the door behind him and felt this enormous sense of peace wash over me.
A few weeks after Derek’s visit, I got a text message from a mutual friend. It was just one line followed by a laughing emoji.
“You won’t believe this. Derek had a bad reaction to Botox.”
I called her immediately and asked what had happened.
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