Alessa Lombardi: Free at Last
Mature
My husband had finally packed all of his things, and was now standing at the front door, staring at me from behind dark sunglasses. His mouth was a straight line, tight, his eyebrows drawn together. I wasn't sure if he'd been angry or feeling regret. I couldn't have cared any less at that point. I just wanted him to walk out of that door, and hopefully out o...
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