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The lawyer’s office smelled like old books. Mr. Harrison was a middle-aged man with kind eyes and graying hair. He gestured for me to sit in one of the chairs across from his massive oak desk.
"Thank you for seeing me on such short notice," I said, settling into the seat.
"Of course." He pulled out a legal pad and pen. "Now, Mrs. Blackwood, I understand you’re here to discuss filing for divorce?"
"Yes."
"How long have you been married?"
"Two ...
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