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m seemed innocent enough, just like his daily ritual of coming home
lphaDave' detailed his calculated betrayals, turning our son Ethan into an unwitting acc
t life as merely a stage for his performance, a performance he thought I was too
irthday, twisted in my mind-a symbol not of love, but of his monstrous manipu
as utterly wrong. The moment he walked through that door, cheerful and loving, I knew
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