I headed out of the estate, only to run into Sophia, who looked rather disheveled at the door. She charged toward me, her arm up in the air as piles of photos scattered across the floor. “Why are you still holding these pictures close to you, Vincent? Didn’t you say that I was your one and only?” Of the many flying photos, one landed right in front of me. The photo was grainy and distinct. In a busy fish market, I wore a cheap T-shirt, my face slicked with sweat. I smiled straight at the camera while holding a freshly gutted fish. The young man with his arm around my shoulders, striking a defiant gesture at the camera, was Vincent. In the photo, his eyes held pure, street-born confidence. The Evelyn in the picture was vivid, alive, and her eyes full of life. However, that person was not me. More accurately, she was just a role I once played. “Evelyn.” Vincent’s voice cracked. “I never married Sophia,” he said urgently while grabbing my arm.“I know that you have
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