"Howard, where are you going?"Beatrice burst out in her wedding dress, panicked, screaming my name.The rotors thundered overhead as I looked down.She sprinted across the lawn, tripped, hit the ground hard, dress a wreck.Bridesmaids rushed in, but she shoved them away, stumbling back to her feet, still chasing the helicopter like her life depended on it.I'd never seen her break like that for me.No—that wasn't true. Back in our first five years, she really did care.When I drank myself into a bleeding ulcer trying to help her land a client, she held me tight and cried.When her company was about to go public, I pulled nonstop all-nighters on her lab work until I collapsed.She rushed me to the hospital, panic in her eyes. When I came to, she crumpled to the floor, clutching me and sobbing.So when did she start slipping away?Maybe it was Joseph's eighteenth birthday—when he got drunk and kissed her.She stayed with him that whole night. From then on, they only grew tig
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