Joanne Brennan — The Husband Who Thought He Could Come Home
“It’s Daphne Whitcomb.”
I froze beside the appointment calendar.
I’d seen Daphne in photographs Roger left visible on social media: bright hair, expensive sunglasses, a gleaming condo balcony.
She was forty-three and had an easy confidence I had once envied.
“I know this is strange,” she said.
“I only need a minute.”
“You can have one.”
There was a pause.
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