“I made a terrible mistake,” he told me once, tears pooling in eyes that used to look at me with pride. “You didn’t deserve what I did.”
No, I didn’t.
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But apologies don’t rewind time.
When he died, I stood at his funeral beside our children. The younger woman did not appear. Neither did most of his so-called friends.
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After the burial, his lawyer asked to meet.
I went, expecting little.
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