Nishane's Point Of View AT SEVEN o'clock in the evening, Clifford and I made our way to a respected steakhouse run by the man who identified himself as my husband. Once more, I'm disguised but, not the typical one I can still make out. This time, we made sure that I won't be identified because, rather than a cap, I'm sporting a red wig.Clifford questioned me as I sat in a seat that was empty, "Will you be okay?"The table is actually only reserved for two people. I decided to speak to my mother on my own, as we had agreed with Clifford. Even yet, I declined his invitation to come and support me. My anxiety is real. For a few of weeks, I didn't see my mother. For a few weeks, we didn't communicate. And I must admit that I am speechless when speaking to her. Now that I am aware of why I was in Clifford's care, I am at a loss for words.And I am confident that Clifford, despite his great worry, understands how I am feeling right now. However, I assured him that I can handle it on my
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