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“She Mocked My Beach House at Breakfast — That Evening, I Sold Everything She Thought Was Hers”

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endless under November clouds.

Savannah breezed in wearing yoga pants and a cashmere sweater that probably cost more than my monthly grocery budget, her phone pressed to her ear, her voice carrying that particular pitch of someone who thinks the entire world exists to facilitate her plans. She didn’t acknowledge me, just poured herself coffee and continued continue reading …

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