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Freelance writer and former prisoner.

The last line hit me like a gut punch, though I had no right to feel that way.

Her life had moved on—of course it had. And yet, reading those words, I felt an ache deep in my chest, one I couldn't quite explain away.

"Pathetic," I muttered under my breath, tossing the folder onto the desk.

I pressed my palms against the edge of the desk, leaning forward as I closed my eyes. You don't miss her, I told myself firmly. You miss the convenience of what she was to you.

But even as I thought it, I knew it wasn't true.

Her face flashed in my mind, yhose soft gray eyes that could freeze me with a single glance. The curve of her lips when she smiled, her eyes turned into cute little crescent moons, rare as it was.

Her laugh, light and full of life, the kind that used to echo through this very house. The way her dark curls would fall into her face, wild and untamed, a reflection of the fire she kept inside.