As I stood there, I realized that the woman before me wasn’t just a stranger caught in the web of my husband’s deceit. She was a person, with her own story, her own struggles, and her own pain.
“I’m sorry,” I found myself saying, the words unexpected but genuine. “I’m sorry for what he’s done, for what you’re going through.”
She looked at me then, her eyes softening slightly as she nodded. “Thank you,” she replied, a hint of relief in her voice.
We sat in silence for a moment, the tension between us dissipating as we shared a quiet understanding. In the midst of the turmoil, there was a strange sense of solidarity, a connection forged through shared pain.
Eventually, I rose to leave, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. “If you need anything, please let me know,” I offered, unsure of what else I could say.
“I will,” she promised, her voice steadier now.
As I stepped out of the room and into the hallway, I couldn’t help but glance back, feeling the weight of her gaze on my back. There was more to uncover, more to confront, and I knew the path ahead would be anything but easy.
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