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Ten days before our tenth anniversary, my husband brought his first love home with a suitcase and a list of the life they should have had. "You've had me for ten years; she only needs ten days." That night, she took my reserved seat beneath a menu bearing my name, and my card paid for their date. For years, he had mistaken my forgiveness for permanence. This time, while he counted down her ten days, I began a countdown of my own.