I used to say, "Adrian, you're so cute."He'd turn his back, ignoring me.So I'd keep repeating it, "Adrian, you're so cute."Eventually, he'd press a hand to his forehead, push me away, and mutter, "Enough, I get it," while trying to hide the flush at his ears.Or that time in our fourth year of marriage, when I got really, really sick.Adrian, who had never lifted a finger in the kitchen, actually tried cooking for me. He brought over a steaming bowl of chicken noodle soup, placing it proudly in front of me.I hadn't even tasted it yet before blurting out, "Whatever my husband makes is the best!"Adrian gave a helpless smile, hands on his hips, before shoving a big spoonful into my mouth."Can't even keep quiet while eating, huh?"Then I chewed, blinked, and thought, 'Ugh!' The chicken was way too dry, and the soup was way too salty. Honestly, it was awful.My thoughts drifted back to the present. Adrian stared at the divorce papers, his eyes lowered.As happy as we'd once
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