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44 – chapter 2

Here I sit by myself in a pub in the middle of the afternoon. Just feeling sorry for myself that no one cares that it’s my birthday.  

I wish I could quit caring about my birthday.  There was a time when I made a big deal about birthdays.  My second husband kind of squashed that out of me. 

I have this long standing desire for someone out there to consistently make me feel like I matter to them and that they’re happy that I was born on this day. 

Is it stupid to feel that way? Am I asking for too much? 

I’m so happy my children were born. I hope they know that from me telling them I love them.

Will anyone ever feel that way about me?

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