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thick fog, but the
?" That was Mark, my boy
, Mark, she can handle a little post-op
ey to save his life, worked three jobs, sold my
s that shatte
to be. But you can' t have a sick, tired artist clinging to you wh
rsonal melody from my childhood that I rewr
o the hospital, publicly proposing with cheap roses and a camera crew, it was a sham. Jessica
tealing my art, but by commodifying my sacrifi
vity. But in that emptiness, a
to find out how wrong he was. I reached for my phone,
aspy but firm. "It' s Sarah.
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