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CHAPTER EIGHTY TWO

—JASMINE

It's been a day since Denzel's return, and that feeling of him being an entirely different person still lingers heavily.

I think to myself as I sit at the breakfast table, staring blankly at my food.

Now we're having breakfast, and I just can't help it anymore.

It feels like playing pretend. Like a life, you just can't seem to reach into and get into your senses that you're real or not. I don't know. It just feels like I'm being controlled.

The only thing keeping me sane is that I am watching my babies grow.

They're saying more words now, like "no" and "hey," and at least I know they're real.

I stare at my food, the scrambled eggs and toast blurring together on my plate. I don't mind if it goes stale. I don't even care if I eat it at all.

"You're not eating?" Denzel points out, his voice breaking the silence.

"I know," I nod, my voice barely above a whisper.

Denzel looks at me, concern etched on his face. "Jasmine, what's wrong? You've been acting strange since I got back."
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