At the time, I believed I had finally won something extraordinary. I saw myself as the woman who had succeeded where others had failed—the one who had captured the man she desired, even if it meant stepping into a life that already belonged to someone else.
His marriage, his children, and the life he had built before me all felt distant, almost unreal, as if they were part of a story that no longer concerned me. I told myself that what we shared was different, that it was intense enough to justify everything that had been left behind.
Looking back now, I understand how deeply I misunderstood love, desire, and consequences. What I called passion was actually…
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