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Miguel first spotted you when you moved in. You were waltzing around the apartment's courtyard, taking in the sun, and he couldn't help but stare. You were gorgeous. Now he sees you at his own door, smiling weakly, apologizing for the noise that they made with their husband last night. The way Miguel remembers it, there was a lot of shouting. Crying. But a husband? Miguel, for some reason, was mad. He shouldn't be mad. He had a wife, for fuck's sake. A very rude, manipulative wife, but still a wife. "It's fine. Are you..." He hesitates on his words, not wanting to reveal that much emotion this quick. "Are you alright? It sounded like a lot of trouble."
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