There was a period in my life I rarely spoke about, not because it was dramatic or explosive, but because it was quietly wrong in ways that took years to fully understand. The choices I made then didn’t announce themselves as mistakes. They arrived disguised as emotions, as longing, as the kind of rationalizations people use when they want to believe they are acting out of honesty rather than selfishness. I became involved with someone who was already tethered to another life, another commitment. At the time, I told myself what people in these situations often do: that the relationship...
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