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“I would be a bad wife,” I admit. This is a truth I’ve never spoken aloud, one that I’ve been harboring for the better part of a decade. “I don’t know that I’m made for relationships like that.”
“I think my godson is obsessed with you.” “That’s because I taught him the joy of fractions and PEMDAS this year.” “Ah, PEMDAS.”
I can handle any number of things on my own, but I didn’t realize how nice it is, sometimes, to have someone whose job is to handle things with you.
“You know what I am,” Vanessa says. “I do. I think you’re the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me.”
I want to tell him I already miss him, like there’s a vital organ in my abdomen that he’s carrying around with him,

