“I don’t care about stuff, Joey,” she cried, throwing her arms around me. “I only want you.” “I’m done.” I had to be. For both of their sakes. Trembling, I reached into my pocket and retrieved the folded-up letter I’d written her after leaving Shane’s. “I’m done dragging you down with me,” I whispered, slipping it into the front pocket of her hoodie without her noticing. “I’m sorry.” “Please!” “I can’t.” I would not turn her into the woman in my kitchen. I loved her too much to allow that to happen. My father didn’t do the right thing for the mother of his children, but I would do it for mine.
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