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Kylie, his twenty-four-year-old girlfriend, sighed loudly from her perch on my beige Belgian linen sofa. She was curled up like a cat, admiring the house that I had built with my own hands and money, utterly clueless about what the next forty-eight hours would bring.
My name is Audrey Wilson. I’m thirty-four years old, and I never expected to be evicted continue reading …
