His smile didn’t reach his eyes, and he seemed to drift off during our conversations, especially when we talked about the baby.
“Maybe he’s just stressed about work,” I reassured myself, pushing away the nagging doubt that had been creeping in. Yet, that night, as we sat down for dinner, I knew I couldn’t ignore it any longer.
“Ethan, are you okay?” I asked, my voice steady despite the turmoil I felt inside.
He looked up, startled as if pulled from some deep thought.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, his tone unconvincing. He shifted in his seat and looked away, his hands fidgeting with the napkin in his lap.
“Are you sure? You’ve seemed… distracted lately,” I pressed gently, reaching for his hand.
He sighed, squeezing my hand briefly before pulling away.
“It’s just work. They’re being tough about the paternity leave. I talked to my boss, and he’s not very supportive. He’s hinted that if I take the leave, I could lose my job.”
The words hung in the air, and I felt like I had been doused with cold water. Lose his job? That wasn’t what we had planned for! We needed his income, especially now!
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” I asked softly, my voice barely above a whisper.
“I didn’t want to stress you out,” he replied, his gaze dropping to the table. “I thought I could figure it out.”
A knot tightened in my chest. Why did it feel like there was more he wasn’t saying? But I forced myself to smile, trying to be supportive.
“We’ll get through it, my love. We always do.”
He gave me a small, strained smile in return, but it did little to ease my worry. As I cleared the dishes, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was very, very wrong.
The following week, I found myself at the grocery store, my mind still tangled with worry. I wandered the aisles aimlessly, unsure what to buy or even what we needed. It felt like my life was spinning out of control, and I was grasping at straws to hold it together.
“Sarah! Is that you?” a familiar voice suddenly called out, bursting my bubble of stress.
I turned to see Amanda, Ethan’s boss’s wife, pushing a cart down the aisle. Amanda had always been cheerful and outgoing, her smile lighting up any room she entered. We’d known each other since university, and though we weren’t close friends, we shared a casual camaraderie.
“Amanda, hi!” I greeted her with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. “It’s good to see you!”
“How are YOU holding up girl?” Amanda asked, her gaze flickering briefly to my belly. “And how’s that precious baby bundle coming along?”
“We’re doing fine,” I replied, though the lie tasted bitter. “Just a little stressed. Ethan’s been having trouble with his paternity leave.”
Amanda frowned, genuine confusion crossing her face.
“Trouble? I thought Ethan’s leave was approved without any issues. My husband even mentioned how happy he was for him to take some time off to be with you.”
The words were like a punch to my gut.
I stared at Amanda, my mind racing. “Are you sure?” I managed to ask, my voice trembling slightly.
“Absolutely! Hubby thought it was great for Ethan to take the leave, especially now. It’s all been sorted out.”
A cold sense of dread washed over me. Why would my husband lie about something like that? What was he hiding?
“Um, thanks, Amanda,” I muttered quickly, forcing another smile. “I really need to get going.”
I hurried through the rest of my shopping, my thoughts a chaotic mess of confusion and fear. Back home, I paced the kitchen, replaying the conversation over and over in my head. If Ethan’s leave had been approved, why would he say otherwise?
Then my eyes landed on his phone, left carelessly on the kitchen counter as he took a shower. My heart pounded as I picked it up. I hesitated, guilt gnawing at me. But the need for answers overpowered my hesitation.
I immediately opened his family chat, scrolling through messages, each one like a dagger to my heart. My instincts had told me his parents, who didn’t quite approve of me, were involved in all of this and I was right.
In a recent conversation, Ethan’s mom had texted, “Ethan, you really don’t need to take time off for the baby. Sarah’s mom can help. We need you here for the renovations.”
His dad replied, “Exactly. It’s not like you’ll be far away. You can come home on weekends.”
Ethan responded “I know. I’ll take the leave and come over to help. Sarah will understand.”
My breath caught in my throat.
He was planning to take paternity leave, not to be with me and our baby, but to help his parents with house renovations? I felt the world around me shatter.
My mind spun with disbelief, anger, and heartbreak. How could he do this to me, to our unborn child? I had imagined sharing this precious time together, but he had chosen his parents over his family. Tears blurred my vision as I quickly took pictures of the messages for proof.
Later, we had dinner together, and I pretended nothing was wrong as I made my mental plan.
By the time Ethan came home the following evening, I had already made up my mind. I decided I couldn’t stay with someone who would betray my trust so easily, especially at a time when we should be united.
“I got fired,” he announced to the empty house as soon as he arrived. My mother told me later that’s what his mom told her.
He looked around the house, noticing my absence. Then, his eyes fell on the envelope I had left on the kitchen table, addressed to him in my handwriting.
With trembling hands, he opened the letter and read the words that would seal our fate.
Ethan,
I found the messages from your parents. You lied to me about the paternity leave. If you can lie about something so important, how can I trust you with our future? I need honesty, especially now. I’m leaving because I deserve better, and so does our baby.
I’ve sent the pictures of your messages to your boss, and that’s why you were fired. I cannot stay with someone who would betray me like this, especially at a time when we should be united. I’m going to file for divorce.
Goodbye,
Sarah.
Ethan stood there, stunned and broken, staring at the letter. He had lost everything: his job, his wife, and the chance to be a present father in his child’s life, all because of his lies and choices.
I, on the other hand, knew I had made the right decision. As I sat in my parents’ living room, holding my growing belly, I realized that the future I had imagined with Ethan was gone. But I also knew I had to be strong for my baby and myself. It was time to start a new chapter, one built on truth and integrity.
Sacrificing for Our Baby
Growing up, I was a troubled teenager, the kind who made people shake their heads and mutter that I’d never amount to anything. But I found solace in studying the brain, understanding how it works, and what makes us tick.
Becoming a neurologist helped redeem me. It was a way to prove to myself and everyone else that I could do something meaningful. For years, the satisfaction of helping people gave me purpose. Yet, it wasn’t just the work itself that fulfilled me; it was the life I built around it… a life with my husband.
When we first got married, I was the breadwinner, and James supported me in every way possible. My husband of four years worked in marketing, earning significantly less than I did, but we never let money define our roles or our happiness.
From the very beginning, he and I had agreed that having children wasn’t a priority for us. If we were ever to consider kids, adoption was the preferred route. Biological children? I wasn’t opposed to the idea, but I wasn’t particularly enthusiastic either. I liked my life the way it was: predictable, structured, and driven by my career.
But everything changed the day his best friend had a baby boy.
I still remember the moment James held that tiny bundle of joy for the first time. His entire demeanor softened, and his eyes filled with a tenderness I’d never seen before.
He suddenly started talking about having a child of our own, painting this picture of a life I’d never envisioned for myself. I tried to brush it off, telling myself it was just a phase, but life decided for us when I unexpectedly found out I was pregnant.
“What do we do now?” I asked him that evening, clutching the positive pregnancy test in one hand and my composure in the other.
“Let’s keep it! We’ll make it work,” he replied without hesitation, squeezing my hand reassuringly.
And so, despite my reservations, I agreed.
We came to a compromise: My husband would quit his job and become a stay-at-home dad once the baby arrived, allowing me to continue pursuing my demanding career. It seemed like a logical plan; a perfect balance between parenthood and professional aspirations. But I was so wrong…
When our daughter, Lily, was born, everything shifted.
The moment I held her, I knew I’d never regret having her. Yet, a part of me was still desperate to hold on to the life I’d carefully built before her arrival. Soon, my short maternity leave came to an end, and I found myself booked for a medical conference out of state.
“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” I asked James before leaving. He stood in the doorway, cradling Lily with that same tender look he had the first time he held her.
“Don’t worry, Rachel. We’ll be fine. You just focus on your work, okay?”
“Call me if you need anything,” I insisted, the words sounding hollow even to my own ears.
My husband smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“I will.”
But when I returned from the conference, everything felt different. James was distant, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced by something darker and more strained.
“Hey, how was the conference?” he asked, his gaze fixated on a spot somewhere beyond me.
“Good,” I replied cautiously. “How’s everything here?”
He shrugged, his face a mask of indifference. “Fine. Just… tired, I guess.”
Alarm bells rang in my head. “Tired?” I echoed. “What’s going on, babe?”
He hesitated, then spoke quietly, his voice tinged with something I hadn’t heard before; fear.
“I don’t know if I can do this, Rachel.”
“Do what?” I asked, though I already knew where this was heading.
“THIS… staying home with Lily. I feel trapped. Overwhelmed.”
His confession hit me like a sledgehammer!
“You said you could handle it. You agreed to this!”
“I know, but it’s harder than I thought. I’m not cut out for this,” he moaned.
“So, what are you suggesting? That I give up my career? Extend my maternity leave?”
“No, I just… maybe we could look into daycare?” he replied.
“Daycare?” I stared at him in disbelief. “We talked about this. We agreed that I’d go back to work and you’d stay home with Lily.”
“I know, but…”
“I made sacrifices, James!” My voice rose in frustration. “I pushed myself back into work mode for us. You knew how important this was for me!”
“And I made sacrifices too!” he shot back, his voice breaking. “I quit my job, Rachel. My career is gone.”
Silence fell between us, thick and suffocating. Lily’s soft cries echoed from the nursery, and my husband glanced over his shoulder like a man about to shatter.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I just need help.”
For the first time since Lily’s birth, I realized the depth of his struggle. I wasn’t the only one fighting to keep everything together. But I still couldn’t shake the feeling of betrayal. James had promised, and now he wanted to back out?
The next few days were a blur of strained conversations and forced smiles. We barely spoke, each of us retreating into our separate worlds. I spent more time at work, and he spent more time avoiding eye contact.
Finally, one evening, after putting Lily to bed, I sat down beside him on the couch.
“We need to figure this out, James.”
He nodded, though he didn’t meet my gaze. “Yeah, I know.”
“This isn’t working. We’re both miserable, and our daughter deserves better.”
“What do you want me to do, Rachel?” he snapped, frustration leaking into his voice. “I’m doing my best here.”
“Maybe we need help,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “Maybe we rushed into this.”
“What are you saying?” His voice cracked. “You regret having Lily?”
“No! But I regret that we’re failing her.”
He looked away, pain etched into his features. “So, what do we do?”
“I’ve hired a nanny.”
His head whipped around, disbelief flooding his eyes. “What? A nanny? We can’t afford that!”
“Yes, we can,” I said firmly. “You’ll start working from home again, and all your income will go toward paying her. We’ll find a way.”
The argument that followed was heated, but I stood my ground. My husband wanted to be there for Lily, but he needed help. And if I couldn’t be there, then I’d make sure someone else was.
Claire, our new nanny, started the following Monday. She was a godsend. She was calm, experienced, and exactly what James needed. Slowly, he began to find his footing again. The tension in our home eased, and for the first time since our daughter’s birth, there was a sense of peace.
One evening, as I watched James feed Lily with a gentle smile on his face, I knew I’d made the right decision. Maybe things would never be perfect, but we were finding a new normal.
“I’m sorry,” he said one night, his voice low and sincere. “I should’ve been more supportive.”
“I’m sorry too,” I whispered back. “I should’ve listened and communicated my plans more.”
It wasn’t a perfect resolution, but it was a start. We were learning to navigate this new life together, one day at a time. As we sat on the porch that evening, watching the stars twinkle above us, I felt a glimmer of hope.
We still had a long way to go, but as long as we faced it together, I knew we could make it work.
The Secret Behind the Sale
The golden light of the setting sun bathed the porch in a soft glow, and I swayed gently on the swing, listening to the rhythmic creak of its chains. Mark stood before me, his eyes filled with a familiar intensity.
“We need more space if we want to start a family, Layla. This place is just too small,” he said, his voice tinged with an earnestness that tugged at my heart.
Little did I know that conversation would change the trajectory of my life.
I glanced around, taking in the cozy house and its blooming garden, framed by the white picket fence that my parents had installed for us. This house was more than just a home; it was a gift from my parents when we married a year ago, a symbol of their love and support for our new life together.
“But Mark, this house is perfect,” I replied softly, feeling a pang of sadness at the thought of leaving it behind. “My parents were so generous with this gift.”
My husband sighed and sat down beside me on the swing, his presence comforting yet somehow distant. He took my hand, his fingers warm against my cool skin.
“I know, sweetheart. But think about the future. A bigger house means more room for a nursery and a backyard for our child or children to play in. It’s a step forward, a step toward the life we’ve been dreaming about.”
His words painted a beautiful picture; one filled with laughter, late-night feedings, and watching our children take their first steps in a spacious, sunlit room. But as enchanting as it sounded, something about it didn’t sit right with me.
I looked around at the roses we had planted together, the cozy living room where we spent countless evenings curled up on the couch, and the kitchen where we cooked our first meal as husband and wife.
Could I really leave all this behind?
“Are you sure this is what we need to do?” I asked, searching his face for any hint of hesitation, any sign that he, too, was struggling with this decision.
But my husband’s gaze was steady, unwavering.
“I know it’s hard, my angel. But we’ll create new memories in the new house. It’ll be our home, where we’ll raise our children and build our future together.”
I knew he was right, or at least, I wanted to believe he was. I trusted Mark and his vision for our future. If moving to a bigger house was what he thought we needed, then I would follow him, no matter how difficult it was to let go.
“Alright,” I whispered, swallowing the lump in my throat. “We’ll sell the house… for our future.”
Mark’s smile was radiant, his relief palpable. He pulled me into a tight embrace, his lips brushing against my hair.
“Thank you, my love. I promise you, it’ll be worth it!”
I agreed with a heavy heart.
Within weeks, our cozy little house was on the market, and buyers were lining up. I couldn’t shake the sense of loss that lingered, but Mark’s enthusiasm and optimism kept me from voicing my doubts.
He assured me we would find the perfect home, one that I would fall in love with just as much as this one.
“It’s the right decision, Lay. You’ll see, it’s for the best,” he said, sealing another moving box with tape.
I nodded, even though my heart felt as if it were being squeezed.
The living room, now filled with boxes labeled “Kitchen,” “Books,” and “Decor,” seemed foreign, stripped of its warmth and familiarity. We were set to move out the following day, staying with Mark’s parents for a few days until he revealed the “surprise” of our new home.
Everything felt rushed, but I pushed my concerns aside. My husband knew what he was doing… or so I thought.
That’s when my phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number.
“Hey, Layla. I heard you guys sold the house. I’m so happy Mark finally confessed to you. You deserve to know the truth,” the stranger texted.
I stared at the screen, confusion swirling in my mind. Confessed? What truth?
My fingers trembled as I typed back, “Who is this? What confession?”
A few moments later, my phone buzzed again.
“Ummm… It’s Candice, Mark’s ex. Oh, so he didn’t… YOU NEED TO CHECK THE ATTIC.”
Candice? Mark’s ex? My heart raced as a sense of dread washed over me. Why would she be reaching out now? And what could possibly be in the attic that she felt the need to warn me about?
The attic door creaked as I slowly pushed it open, revealing a dusty, dimly lit space filled with old boxes and forgotten items. I hesitated, fear and curiosity battling within me.
What could be up here?
I began searching through the boxes, my heart pounding harder with each breath.
After what felt like an eternity, I spotted a small wooden chest tucked away in the corner, partially hidden beneath a stack of old blankets. I hadn’t noticed it before.
I Accidentally Answered My Husband’s Work Call — The Voice on the Other End Exposed His Double Life
When Julianne answers her husband’s phone, the furious voice on the other end reveals a devastating secret: her husband has been living a double life. Now, she’ll have to act fast to protect herself and her son from the fallout of her husband’s deceit.
If you’d asked me that morning if I was happy, I would’ve said yes. Maybe not convincingly, but I would’ve said it. That was before the call.
A silhouette of a woman | Source: Midjourney
I spent my days juggling the roles of wife, mother, and school volunteer. My husband, Raymond, was the breadwinner, a mid-level manager who came home late too often these days, citing work stress.
My eight-year-old son, Ethan, was my anchor, and the reason I kept pushing through even when Raymond’s distant eyes gnawed at me.
But I didn’t have time to dwell. Life kept moving, and I was good at keeping up.
Close up of a woman’s face | Source: Midjourney
I’d already seen Ethan off to school on the bus and was leaning in to kiss Ray goodbye when he whirled away from me and grabbed his briefcase.
“I’ve got to rush. Today’s going to be crazy and Mr. Richards must be waiting for me already,” he muttered as he rushed out the door.
I didn’t even notice he’d left his phone on the kitchen table. When it started ringing a few minutes after he left, I answered automatically, thinking it was mine.
A cell phone | Source: Midjourney
“Raymond,” snapped a woman’s voice, sharp and angry. “I warned you! If you don’t get rid of her, I’ll tell everyone I’m pregnant with your child.”
My throat closed up. I knew that voice… it was Vera, my sister!
“I’m done waiting, Ray. This is your last warning. Tell her today, or else!”
Before I could scream or demand answers, the line went dead.
A woman holding a cell phone | Source: Midjourney
I stood there, frozen, the phone clutched so tightly in my hand that my knuckles turned white. Vera had always been the storm to my calm. Beautiful, reckless, and magnetic, she flitted through life, bringing chaos and charm in equal measure.
And now she was pregnant with my husband’s child. They’d been cheating on me… for how long?
A strange, detached instinct kicked in, like my body was operating on autopilot. My thumb hovered over the screen before I unlocked Raymond’s phone, the password I’d seen him type a thousand times burning in my mind.
A woman standing in a kitchen | Source: Midjourney
My fingers trembled as I scrolled through the messages. And there were dozens of texts, a thread of secrets I was never supposed to uncover.
Vera’s words were insistent, pleading: When are you going to tell her? I can’t keep doing this, Ray. She’s clueless.
Then Raymond’s careful, measured replies: I just need more time. I want to do this right. We can’t risk her finding out — it’ll ruin everything.
The bile rose in my throat as I pieced it together. They had a plan, and it was cold, and calculated.
A heartbroken woman | Source: Midjourney
They’d leave their marriages in such a way that nobody would suspect their affair. Vera was ready to leave Jack, and Raymond had been weighing how to drop me quietly and cleanly, ensuring his finances remained untouched.
She won’t get a penny, one of his messages read. I’ll make sure of it.
My knees buckled, and I slid to the kitchen floor.
A woman sitting on a floor | Source: Midjourney
The phone slipped from my grasp and clattered onto the tiles, but I didn’t care. I sat there, shaking, the weight of betrayal pressing down on me like a suffocating blanket.
Vera’s voice replayed in my head, layered over Raymond’s careful lies. The two people I trusted most in the world had conspired against me, trading whispers behind my back while I set the table for family dinners and kissed Raymond goodnight.
The betrayal didn’t just sting; it consumed me, a fiery, unrelenting ache that made my vision blur.
An emotional woman | Source: Midjourney
I pressed my hands to my face, trying to block it all out. But it was burned into my mind now. My husband and my sister were plotting my destruction.
For the first time in my life, I felt entirely untethered. But I wasn’t going to let them destroy my life. And I wouldn’t let Ethan suffer for their selfishness.
Anger fueled me, sharpening my focus as I grabbed my keys and headed straight for Vera’s husband’s office.
An office building | Source: Pexels
Jack was the kind of man who could turn chaos into order. He was everything Vera wasn’t: level-headed, meticulous, and about as far from impulsive as a person could get. If anyone could help me, it was Jack.
The office building was quiet. Jack’s secretary wasn’t even there yet; her desk sat empty as I marched past it, my sneakers squeaking against the polished floors.
My heart pounded in my chest as I reached his door and knocked harder than I intended.
A door | Source: Pexels
“Come in,” Jack called, his deep, calm voice carrying through the door.
I stepped inside, and he looked up from his desk, his brow knitting in confusion when he saw me.
“Julianne?” He stood, concern flashing in his sharp, gray eyes. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”
I didn’t bother with pleasantries. My hands trembled as I crossed the room and set Raymond’s phone on his desk.
A cell phone on a desk | Source: Pexels
“I have something important to tell you, Jack. It’s about Vera and…” I faltered, my voice catching. “You’ll need to see it for yourself.”
He gestured for me to sit, but I stayed standing. His gaze didn’t leave me as he picked up the phone and scrolled through the messages. With each swipe, his face darkened. His jaw tightened, and his grip on the phone grew rigid.
“Goddammit, Vera,” he muttered under his breath, his calm veneer cracking.
A stressed man | Source: Midjourney
He set the phone down with more force than necessary and pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly. I thought he might explode, but instead, he grabbed a notepad from his desk and flipped it open. His movements were precise and deliberate.
“We need a plan,” he said, his tone clipped and businesslike.
I blinked at him, startled by his composure. “You’re not… shocked? Hurt?”
“No, I’m furious,” he said, meeting my eyes.
A furious man | Source: Midjourney
His voice was calm, but there was a dangerous edge beneath it. “Vera’s always been mercurial, but this time she’s gone too far.”
He tapped his pen against the notepad, his jaw set. “I’m filing for divorce. And I’m going to help you do the same. With evidence like this, they don’t stand a chance.”
I sank into the chair across from him, my earlier fury replaced by something steadier.
“Jack,” I said, my voice soft. “Thank you.”
A grateful woman | Source: Midjourney
His lips pressed into a thin line as he began scribbling notes. “Don’t thank me yet. This is going to be messy. But they’ve left us no choice. We’ll have to move fast, even if it means I have to pull some strings. This is what we’re going to do…”
Jack continued taking notes as he outlined his plan. My resolve solidified as I took it all in. I was a little awed by how quickly he calculated each step, but mostly, I was relieved.
I wasn’t alone in this fight. Jack and I would make sure Vera and Raymond paid for their betrayal, and that neither of us would be left picking up the pieces alone.
A lawyer in his office | Source: Midjourney
That evening, Vera and Jack joined Raymond and me for dinner. I’d texted Vera the invite the minute I got home. I’d then called Ray’s office to tell him he’d left his phone at home.
“Oh my God,” he muttered, a hint of panic in his voice. “Just… switch it off and put it in my nightstand drawer, okay?”
“Sure, honey,” I replied. “By the way, Jack and Vera will be joining us for dinner tonight. Could you pick up a bottle of wine on the way home?”
A woman speaking on her cell phone | Source: Midjourney
Next, I arranged for Ethan to sleep over at a friend’s house. By the time we sat down to dinner that evening, all the pieces of Jack’s plan were in place.
I poured a large glass of wine and set it down in front of Vera.
“Oh, no wine for me, Jules.” She pointedly stared at Raymond. “I’ve been feeling a little under the weather lately.”
“I guess that makes sense,” I replied. “The first trimester is rough and pregnant women aren’t supposed to drink, are they?”
Wine glasses on a table | Source: Pexels
Vera’s fork clattered against her plate, and Raymond’s hand tightened on the edge of the table.
“Oh, don’t act surprised,” I said. “I know about the affair, the baby, and your little plans to leave me with nothing.”
Jack, who had been waiting for his cue, produced two folders and rose from his seat.
“These are your divorce papers,” he said, slapping one folder down in front of Vera before placing the other in front of Ray. “And these are yours.”
Divorce papers | Source: Pexels
Raymond turned to me, panic flooding his eyes. “Julianne, please…”
“You don’t get to talk!” I snapped, my voice trembling with rage. “You’ve destroyed everything, and for what? Her?”
Raymond looked at Vera, who was openly crying now, then back at me. He didn’t answer. He just stared at the table, defeated.
An emotional man | Source: Midjourney
In the weeks that followed, Jack and I worked like a team. He was relentless in court, helping me secure a settlement that ensured Ethan and I would be fine.
Raymond lost his assets, his reputation, and whatever shred of decency he thought he had left. Jack filed for full custody of his children, and Vera was left scrambling.
The scandal tore through our small town. Everyone knew what had happened, and neither Raymond nor Vera could walk into the grocery store without whispers trailing them.
People in a grocery store | Source: Pexels
One evening, as I watched Ethan play in the yard, I felt a strange sense of peace. My life wasn’t what I thought it was. It was messy, complicated, and painful. But it was mine, and I was free to shape it into something new.
Here’s another story: Mia’s thrilled when her unruly son, Jack, returns from a weekend at Grandma’s house as a model of discipline, but his strange transformation leaves her uneasy. Determined to uncover what happened, Mia’s questions lead her to a dangerous revelation.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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