My Dying Wife Asked Me to Find My First Love as Her Final Wish—When Claire Told Me Why, My Knees Nearly Gave Out
There was no preserved alternate universe.
No guarantee Claire and I would have lasted six months in Chicago.
No guarantee we would have had children.
No guarantee I would have become the same man.
The only thing Margaret unquestionably stole was choice.
She denied Claire and me the right to make informed decisions.
That was enough.
I did not need to invent a perfect stolen future to justify being angry.
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