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The paper slipped from my fingers, fluttering down into the box.
The anger that had fueled my life for a decade evaporated, replaced by a cold, hollow shock. I looked at the medical receipts in the box—every single one paid for by a shell company registered in Mark’s name.
“Lauren? You find something?” Dad’s voice called out from the kitchen.
I looked at the image of the man pointing accusingly from the warning sign on Clara’s desk—a reminder to
