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The crushing weight of Susan’s revelation, her cold confession echoing in my ears, made it impossible to breathe within the chapel’s walls. The air felt thick with deceit and betrayal, suffocating me. I fled, desperate to escape the scene of my world’s complete undoing, and returned to the quiet, empty house Greg and I had shared, now a hollow mausoleum of a life I no longer recognized. Every familiar object, every shared space, seemed to mock me with memories of a love I now questioned entirely. My mind was a chaotic storm of shattered trust, desperately searching for some anchor, any explanation for this unimaginable deception. With trembling hands, I turned to the only tangible link I had left to him: the journals he had kept for years, leather-bound volumes filled with his neat script, chronicles of his everyday thoughts, cherished memories of our life together, and reflections on his work. I devoured page after page, my eyes scanning frantically, a terrible dread warring with a desperate sliver of hope that somewhere, buried in these intimate confessions, I would find an answer, a rationale, something that could possibly explain the existence of a hidden family, a double life I was now forced to confront.
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