a part of. Sarah, Mark, and the twins. They laughed, they played in the garden, their voices drifting up to my window. I was a
. I was looking for old photo albums, searching for a time before h
om my literature class. We weren't close, just friendly acquaintances, but seeing her smiling face in
fe could have been, a sharp contrast to the cold,
ld house had a laundry chute, and sound traveled easily through the vents. It was
"I've always loved you. Everything I've done, it's all b
ied, his voice weak but
ys loved him. My entire marriage, our entire life together, was a lie built to ser
with the smell of old wood and forgotten memories, and I felt something inside me finally, irrevocably, break. The man who had tr
t was a video. My hands shook as I pressed play. It was a security recording from a
wn and kissed him, a long, tender kiss full of a love she had never once shown me. Then s
t day: "Thinking of you, darling. Can't wait for you to be home." The video was
text: "He was always the one. Yo
m a lavish party. Sarah's parents were there, clinking champagne glasses with Mark. Her father clapped Mark o
in on it. They had watched me, entertained me, welcomed me into their lives, all while knowing I w
us than I could have ever imagined. The grou
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