Broken Hearts

I don’t hate you. But there’s some stuff you need to know. The first time I heard your name was over wine and calamari at a little bar in New York City. I was on a first date with the man who would become my son’s father — your ex-boyfriend at the time — and we were going through all those first date details: Exes, favorite food; career goals. You never really came up after that. He took me on thoughtful dates. One I will always remember was a trip to the famous Books of Wonder in New York City. We milled around rows of children’s books, sat with our backs against the wall; had pie and coffee in the cafe. It was a whirlwind. He invited me to his work holiday party. We rode the subway to the Upper East Side, mingled with his coworkers at the intimate gathering — and drank a lot...
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