AMOMAMA POST
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Part1: A year after she stole my husband, my former best friend mailed me an invitation to her baby shower. “Come celebrate our little blessing,” she wrote, adding a smiley face. “Sorry you couldn’t give him a son.”
It was the kind of autumn rain that drained Boston of all color, turning the skyline into a bruised watercolor of glass and steel. Outside my kitchen window, the streets …
