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... he therapist across from him. The room was quiet, the only sound being the soft hum of a distant air conditioner. He hadn’t been here in years, not since he’d felt the weight of the world crushing down on him, but now, the pressure he felt was different. It was sharper, more urgent.

The therapist, Dr. Mitchell, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and a calm demeanor, sat opposite him, her pen poised over a notepad. She had been listening intently as Remo described Abby’s behavior, careful ...

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