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“I want,” said Callista, “you at my side while I give birth to our children if that’s in the cards for us, or standing strong with me while we make a new plan if it isn’t.”
We need a plan in case this blows up in our faces. Whoever killed that poor woman understood what they were doing by pointing the cops in your direction.
“Kim wants a divorce. I don’t plan to give her one. Mother would disown me. No way this can happen.”
Now all Sarah had to do was mail it without Nate finding out. It wasn’t a great plan, but forward movement nonetheless.
Her noble plan to rid the earth of the scum-sucking leeches ruining so many young girls lives seemed doomed to failure. She couldn’t even save herself.
There’s nothing simple about the wedding her family is planning. Last night after she spent two hours on the phone with her mother, I suggested we elope to Vegas and be married by an Elvis impersonator.
Sam Bradley w/a McKenna Sinclair
She scanned him up and down, as though it was the first she’d noticed his grimy condition. “Get yourself washed up, boy, if you plan on eatin’ lunch at the same table with me.”
Was that Sarah’s email? I archived it along with the ever-growing batch I planned to peruse at the month’s end.