When you found out what . . . happened, you didn’t even confront me. You didn’t question me. You didn’t yell at me. We didn’t have a single conversation about it. You just quietly filed for divorce. Come on! Who does that?” “I do,” she says, adding a drizzle of olive oil to the pan, followed by the mushy onions. “We have a daughter. I know you’re pissed at me but think about Summer.” Sarah sifts through the spice cabinet, collecting an array of seasonings. “That’s exactly who I am thinking about and why I filed for divorce rather than taking some other course of action.” My wife only has two
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