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“You’ll suffer naturally because you’re toxic,” my doctor husband sneered, blocking the nurses from performing a C-section for my giant 10-pound baby as revenge for his intern. I writhed in pain, clutching the bed rails until my knuckles turned white. When the grueling delivery finally ended, the heavy delivery room doors banged open. My husband staggered in, his face drained of color as he looked at the newborn chart, fell to the floor, and shrieked, “No… that’s impossible! Whose child is-“

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gently transferring my sleeping, heavily swaddled son into my arms. I named him Winter. Cold, unforgiving, and a harbinger of the death of what came before.

Prior to my exodus, I arranged a tableau on the nightstand. I aligned the freshly printed, faxed divorce demands, the initial malpractice lawsuit filings, and positioned the digital voice recorder continue reading …

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