She found a note on the kitchen table that morning, folded in half with her name printed neatly on it. He’d written it the night before, apologizing for his behavior and promising it would never happen again. “I don’t want you to be sorry,” she said and returned the note to the tabletop. There, she thought to herself. I’ve finally admitted it outloud. Now what?
Archive for March 18th, 2008
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