‘It’s mine,’ he says quietly. ‘Why is it yours all of a sudden?’ I say aggressively. ‘Why isn’t it ours? I was there, too, you know.’ ‘No, I mean, of course it’s yours as well, if you want it. I just mean . . . I bought the box. I got the stuff together. That’s how it came into the house.’ ‘When?’ And still I can hear a snort in my voice, as if I don’t believe him, as if he is somehow trying to put one over on me. ‘I don’t know. When we came back from our honeymoon. It was a fantastic day. I was so happy. I just didn’t want to forget it.’ I burst into tears, and I cry and cry until it feels as
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