I sold her adorable white wicker chairs and table, the beauti-ful hand-painted china. I sold the fake little tea party snacks that looked so real I wanted to eat them. I sold every last piece I had stored for years—just so I could buy my husband a surprise Christmas present with-out the price appearing on our credit card bill.
Now I don't even remember what I bought him. But I do remember the early December morning when I said good-bye to "Samantha." My husband,...
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