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My husband Mark and I shared a quiet country house where we spent weekends away from the city. It had always been a place of rest, separate from daily pressures. Over time, though, he began avoiding it. At first, his reasons seemed ordinary—work, fatigue, lack of time. I accepted them without much thought. That changed when a neighbor from the village reached out and mentioned seeing him there, moving items into the house on a day he was supposed to be elsewhere. It wasn’t the action itself, but the inconsistency that stayed with me.
He drove directly to the country house.