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I packed up ten years of our lives in a few boxes. He expected me to cry but I knew it would only be time before we returned to this house. To the city. I flippantly dismissed the concern covering his face. “Oh there is no need to be sad. Nothing has changed really,” I said. He squeezed my hand to comfort me. “I can’t handle leaving,” he said.

After eight months of being unemployed and hunting for jobs, he finally found one in a village 400 kms away. We needed the money; we couldn’t live apart. So we packed our lives up. But our life began in this house. We had settled in comfortably into our routines. The church nearby, the market, the florist where he bought me a flower everyday, the bakery where I sold my wheat bread. Everyone knew us, we knew everyone. It seemed like an end. Though, it meant new things, new people and new routines. With a lower salary, we would be living a different lifestyle. I might not even be able to bring in the money I used to. We would have to scrimp and save for a while. “This pain will go away, Steve,” I said, “Things will be okay.”

He didn’t take me at face value, though. He noticed my grief stricken eyes.

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