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I locked my wife in the pantry under the stairs

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feet scrape the pantry floor.

“Thomas,” she says, and her voice changes into something I have never heard from her. Not sorrow. Not fear. Hatred sharpened by years of being obeyed. “You should have stayed where I put you.”

Emily flinches.

My father steps between her and the passage.

Where I put you.

The words hit harder than if she had confessed with details.continue reading …

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