“It’s okay. It’s you and me.
That’s enough. You are enough.”
But apparently, there were “our kids” somewhere who loved him “forever.”
My vision blurred. I grabbed the sink and stared at myself in the mirror.
Mascara smeared.
Eyes swollen. I looked like a cliché.
Who wrote this? Who had kids with my husband?
I didn’t cry.
Not then.
I went looking for the cameras.
The security room was a small office with four monitors and a man in a gray uniform. His name tag said “Luis.”
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