I stole a married man. Not just a partner, but a father of three children who trusted him completely and a husband who had built a full life with another woman. At the time, I called it love. I convinced myself that desire justified destruction and that passion excused betrayal. I became someone I barely recognized—cruel, arrogant, and blind to consequences. When his wife once called me, crying and begging me to stop, I mocked her pain and told her to “save her whining for someone who cares.” I didn’t feel guilty then. I felt victorious, as if breaking a...
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