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Then last week, it happened. She caught him.
It wasn’t even dramatic, just sad.
Then there was silence, followed by her footsteps rushing up the stairs. I peeked out of my room just in time to see her pass by, eyes wide and face pale.
Later that night, she told me she had seen him in the parking lot of some diner, kissing another woman. Blonde. Tall. Wearing red heels.
“He didn’t lie,” she whispered, sitting on my bed like a ghost of herself. “He just looked at me and said, ‘You’re not going anywhere, so just stay quiet. If you don’t open your mouth about stuff like this, maybe we’ll stay together.’”
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