I couldn’t believe it. Darlene, the woman who bragged about her cruise trips and fancy handbags, was barely hanging on.
She begged me to let her make it right.
I told her I needed time to think. That night, I barely slept. I kept replaying everything: the barking box, the cupcakes, her tears. Part of me felt victorious, but a bigger part felt hollow.
The next morning, I knocked on Darlene’s door. She opened it looking like she hadn’t slept either. Her eyes were puffy, her hair undone.
“I don’t want to ruin your life,” I said softly. “But you can’t keep doing this.”
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