Files and folders were strewn everywhere. It would take her all afternoon, to sort through the paraphernalia she had been lugging around, for the last twelve years.
She angled a manila envelope and a lone card slid into her lap. She braced herself for a twang of remorse. There was none.
Her name and the groom’s name were printed in bold red letters on the corrugated surface. The wedding, had it happened, would have meant a different future. One, in which she would have had very little say. She placed the card back in the envelope.
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The Concession
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