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Daniel had always said he hated “women who acted rich,” and Carol had a habit of asking what everything cost. I wanted to be loved as Emily, not as Emily-with-property.
I opened the front door and stopped cold.
Carol was standing in my living room with a measuring tape. Daniel was beside her, holding my framed photos in a cardboard box. A real estate agent I had never seen before was studying the kitchen cabinets.
She did not look embarrassed. She looked annoyed.
“Oh,” she said. “You’re home.”
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