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My father hadn’t cleared the miasma that hung over my mood. I didn’t
go home with a spring in my step or cheerfully concoct a life plan from his
encouragement. But after we spoke, I rubbed some of the fog from the
mirror.
My cleaning lady left my mail on the table by the front door. A manila
envelope had been sent by courier. I opened it and slid out the document.
Divorce papers.
Ella Papillion wanted to divorce Logan Crowne, and suddenly—with
those two names in front of me—I knew what I had to do.
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