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Dear Michael,

When we met, it was the summer of Shania Twain, Mocha Iced lipstick, motorcycle rides, and the summer I became a 17-year old mother. But then you left us.


Now, you're back to walk our daughter down the aisle. And you want a second chance?


I survived medical school. I survived to raise our daughter alone. I survived never knowing what was better than us. I won't survive to give you a second chance. I'm no longer that lovesick 17-year old girl.

Jill

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