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system still had power.”
When my husband h:it me, my parents saw the b:ruise — said nothing, and walked away. He smirked from his chair, beer in hand: “Polite little family you’ve got.”
Grant’s bottle slipped slightly in his hand.
“You recorded me?” he whispered.
“No,” I said. “You recorded yourself.”
The front door handle rattled.
Grant spun toward it.
For the first time that night, fear crossed his face. Quick. Bright. Delicious.
Then his arrogance rushed back to cover it.
