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5:43pm. I locked my phone and tossed it on the bed. I’m not going to check again. For two months you and I had been apart—how could the final minutes feel so torturous? But the words of your last text had strapped my heart into a pillory and left it exposed to the unrelenting whip of suspense. “Be ready for me.” Was I ready? Calm, controlled breathing couldn’t still that whip as I approached the bedroom mirror for the hun...