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... e last row of the university auditorium and watched her tiptoe to write her future dreams on the freshman wall.
When she was twenty-one, I sat in the café she frequented, watching her rush into another man’s embrace with a bouquet of flowers.
This year at twenty-seven, I personally sent the video of her fiancé’s infidelity to her email, watching her crash into my arms with reddened eyes in the bridal shop.
It’s okay that she loved someone else.
It’s okay that she ...
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