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Brittle Nails and a Disputed Greenhouse in Autumn

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husband is supposed to look at his wife and see the truth,” I said, my voice steadier than my hand. “Not what a real estate agent tells him to see.”

“He had those sheets from the clinic, Martha,” Donald said, finally looking up at me, his eyes rimmed with a deep, bruised red. “He had Chloe print them, and he stood right there by the sunroom door and continue reading …

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