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Bitter. That was how I felt when I found out my husband of seven years had been lying to me. Not just lying, but out here creating life with another bitch half my age. Making whole damn kids while I was at home injecting hormones and crying into pregnancy tests that never turned pink. That shit didn't just break me. It rewired me. I wouldn't never be the same.
One crash out, a fucked-up apartment, a stab wound that wasn't even mine, and a weekend in jail later, the change was solid. I came out a new woman. Not the soft kind, because that bitch died inside me somewhere. More like the kind that don't take shit no more. Especially not from my soon-to-be ex-husband, Zamir.
At 38, I realized time was no longer something I could afford to waste on heartbreak disguised as love and potential. It was time to let go, stop playing shit safe and reclaim every piece of me that he tried to bury under all his lies and betrayal.
But sometimes you can move on too fast. Especially when you're unhealed and still chasing a dream while watching your internal clock.
I wanted something new. I prayed to the Universe for it. I even cried over it. Then right on time, I met him.
And baby, the Universe must've had the darkest sense of humor because what I found wasn't just new.
That shit felt dangerous, addictive, and unholy.
With a past even darker than mine...
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