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I didn’t expect to see my ex-husband at the grocery store. Especially not with a toddler on his hip… and definitely not with a double stroller and two screaming babies.
I also didn’t expect to see him with her, the yoga instructor he left me for, shouting about oat milk in the cereal aisle.
And for a second, as I watched him fumble with a child’s sock and mumble something about being more “mindful next time,” I almost felt sorry for him.
Almost. But not quite.
For 18 years, I had been Mark’s wife, his cook, his cheerleader, his unpaid therapist, and at one time, the only person who knew every shade of him.
But before all of that, I was his best friend.
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