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“What’s the point in writing anything if you’re going to destroy my work?” I shout, my voice cracking with frustration. My hands clench into fists, and my vision blurs with tears of anger and despair. Everything I’ve worked for is slipping away, destroyed by the very person I once trusted. “You’re determined to ruin my life.” When he replies with a thumbs-up emoji, my nostrils flare. I toss the phone on the other side of the bed. What do I have left if I can’t write my erotic ghost story?