Irene was my best friend growing up in a small Maryland town. We spent nights at each other’s houses, went to the same youth group at church, played endless games of Monopoly and talked on the phone for hours.
She got married and moved to Florida. I got married and moved to New Jersey.
When she was 24, Irene was stabbed to death on Christmas Eve by her husband. To make matters even worse, he did it in front of their two young children.
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