Erika sighed and purged yet another box. She and Tyler were moving for only the second time in twenty-five years of marriage, and they had far too much stuff. Her finger caught in something that felt like a plastic finger trap, and lifting her hand, she giggled. Tyler had given her the mixtape the weekend they’d stolen away to the mountains before they were married. A devious grin formed on her lips; they’d spent more time inside the cabin enjoying each other instead of outside enjoying nature. Though the tech was obsolete, the soundtrack of their love would endure forever.
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