Thirty-Six Pages of Bank Receipts and the Chicago Mortgage Transfer I Finally Canceled
He’d know I knew he was a co-owner of a house with no power.
And then he’d text back, angry and defensive, pulling me into another round of fighting across six thousand miles of ocean.
He’d get exactly what he wanted: my time, my attention and my energy.
I stared at the text box for ten long seconds.
I pressed my thumb to the glass, highlighted the whole message, and hit the delete button.
The wall of text disappeared at once, leaving the box blank and clean.
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