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I sat there. Phone in my lap.
Heart hammering so hard I thought I might pass out.
They were splashing around happily, blissfully unaware.
I wanted to throw up.
So I packed my things.
I didn’t explain to the girls why we were leaving early.
I just said, “We’re going home tonight,” and forced a smile as they zipped their tiny suitcases back up.
They cried. They begged.
They asked what they did wrong.
“Nothing,” I said.
At the airport, my phone lit up.
It was a text from my husband.
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