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... g cut through the darkness. An unknown number flashed across the screen. Frowning, I declined the call and set the phone down. Moments later, it rang again— same number. With an irritated sigh, I answered.

"Hello, are you Mrs. Simpson? Your husband is very intoxicated, and we need someone to pick him up," a polite male voice spoke.

"Jack Simpson?" I asked, propping myself up on my elbow, a wave of annoyance washing over me.

Before the man could respond, Jack’s voice boome ...

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