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Six months ago, I thought I had everything under control. My perfect marriage, my successful career, my reputation - all carefully maintained lies. Then Sarah discovered the truth about my double life, and within weeks, everything I'd built came crashing down.

When I was 14, my appendix burst during a school field trip. The teachers called my mom's cell five times, but she was getting her nails done. By the time I got to the hospital, the infection had spread. Her response? "These things happen."

The city lights sparkled through the rain-streaked windows of Sarah Mitchell's corner office on Madison Avenue. At forty-two, she'd mastered the art of corporate warfare, though each victory seemed to chisel away another piece of her private life.

Sarah stood at the classroom door, watching her students leave. Each face carried untold stories, pain hidden behind young smiles. She wanted to help them all, but reality was cruel. Sometimes love wasn't enough to heal broken hearts. The system continued its cycle.

When I was 12, my appendix burst during my piano recital. Mom was at a wine tasting and told the school to call my aunt instead. I ended up taking a taxi to the emergency room. The nurse couldn't believe a parent wasn't with me.

The old photograph in my hands stirred memories I thought I had buried forever. There we were, smiling at the camera, unaware that our perfect summer afternoon would become the last moment of innocence. Sometimes the most precious memories hide the deepest wounds.

When I was 14, I collapsed during track practice and ended up in intensive care with severe dehydration. My mom was at a wine tasting event and told the nurse she'd check on me tomorrow. That's just how it always was with her.

When I was 14, my appendix burst during a school field trip to Atlanta. The teachers called my parents three times before anyone picked up. Dad was at a business meeting and said he'd "check in later." I ended up in surgery with just my history teacher there.