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... I have to tattoo that sentence on my own forehead so I never forget it, fine. Consider it done.
I didn’t hunt these women down like some tragic pickup artist with a spreadsheet and a neckbeard.
No.
The universe literally gift-wrapped them for me at the exact moment their marriages had decayed into beige resentment and mutual hostage situations.
Year five, year twelve, year twenty-three—didn’t matter. The timeline always looked th ...
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