I still remember the moment when a simple observation turned into a conclusion I had no right to make.
It happened during dinner at a small Italian restaurant on Maple Street. The place was quiet, with dim lighting, wooden tables, and the smell of fresh food filling the room.
As I looked across the restaurant, I noticed my neighbor’s wife, Sarah, sitting at a table with a man.
They appeared close. They were talking comfortably, and at one point, he placed his hand over hers.
I immediately assumed I knew what I was seeing.
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