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  • I could tell by her eyes.

    They looked like mine, in the mirror.

    She had an abusive partner, like I did.

    She was my new new bus driver. I sat behind her and we talked. Every day we talked. We rarely talked about our partners. We talked about our kids, our gardens.

    Sometimes, she had a bruise or black eye.

    Sometimes, I did. Or, we both did.

    One day, I said my husband said I was asking for it, that I liked it. She said her husband said that too. I said it wasn't true. I did everything I could to avoid it. She said, "me too."

    A tear glistened in the corner of her eye.

    One day, she was gone. I read in the paper she'd been killed by her husband.

    I decided to leave mine before that happened to me.
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