Tera Mayo Funny Storyteller, Moncton, NB (2026)

12/30/2025

Can U get married💓 to a man that own this kind of house🤷‍♂️?

If you are lady reading this post, I want to hear you view to this kind of guy in the COMMENT section🙏.
Can you settle down with a man in this kind of unplastered wall and sandy floor room self contained?

Being a landlord in a small house is different from being tenant in luxury house,

What's your thought about this?🤔

12/30/2025

Episode 2: Her Real Name Was Not Adanna and Desire Entered Our House.
The man in the black luxury car did not leave my mind for days. Neither did the fear I saw in Adanna’s eyes that evening. Our house returned to its routine, but something had shifted permanently. It was as if a hidden door had been opened, and none of us could close it again.

Adanna became quieter than usual. She avoided eye contact with me. She worked harder, woke earlier, slept later, as if exhaustion could bury her secret. Morenike, on the other hand, became more observant. Too observant.

My wife had always been sharp, but now her eyes followed Adanna everywhere. Every movement. Every word. Every silence.

One Saturday morning, Morenike called me into the bedroom and asked me a question that caught me off guard.

“Do you know your maid’s real name?”

I froze. I asked why she would ask such a thing.

“She does not answer immediately when I call Adanna,” she replied. “Sometimes, she reacts late, like she is adjusting.”

I laughed it off and said maybe the girl was just slow. But deep inside, I knew Morenike had touched something real.

Later that day, I found Adanna in the backyard, sitting on a low stool, staring at nothing. I should have kept my distance. I did not.

I asked her about the man.

She broke down.

Her shoulders shook violently as she cried, covering her face with her hands. I felt helpless watching her. After a long silence, she spoke in a whisper.

“My name is not Adanna.”

The words landed like thunder.

She said her real name was Nkiru Okafor. She said she came from a family so wealthy that money was never discussed because it was always available. She said her father was a businessman with interests everywhere, and her mother came from an equally powerful lineage.

I asked her why such a person would be scrubbing floors in my house.

Her answer was simple and painful.

“I ran away.”

She told me her family wanted to marry her off to a man she did not love. A man twice her age. A man who saw her as a business extension, not a human being. When she refused, things became unbearable. Threats. Pressure. Emotional manipulation.

One night, she left with nothing but a small bag and a plan to disappear.

She moved from place to place, changed names, cut off her hair, learned to live small. Becoming a maid was the perfect disguise. No one looks twice at a maid.

As she spoke, I felt my chest tighten. I should have stopped the conversation. I should have remembered my vows. But instead, I listened. And in listening, I crossed another line.

I promised her I would not tell my wife.

That promise was the beginning of my fall.

From that day, Nkiru trusted me more. Too much. She smiled at me again. She spoke freely when Morenike was not around. She shared stories of a childhood filled with music, private tutors, and long holidays she could never return to.

And I shared my own pain.

I told her about the pressure of childlessness. About how my marriage felt like a performance. About how lonely I felt in my own house. She listened, nodded, and sometimes placed her hand briefly on mine in comfort.

That was how desire entered our house.

Not in fire.

Not in urgency.

But slowly, like a leak no one notices until the walls begin to crack.

Morenike noticed changes too.

She accused me of smiling more. Of staying longer in the living room. Of defending Nkiru at every opportunity. One night, during an argument, she said something that cut deep.

“If you want to marry an Igbo maid, just say it.”

I slapped the table in anger. That was the first time I had raised my voice at her in years. We slept back to back that night, miles apart emotionally.

The next day, Morenike traveled again.

That evening, the house felt too quiet. Too intimate.

Nkiru cooked my favorite meal without me asking. She dressed modestly, but her presence filled the room. As we ate, our eyes met more often than necessary. Silence stretched between us, heavy and dangerous.

After dinner, she stood to clear the plates. Our fingers brushed.

That touch sent a shock through my body.

I stood up abruptly and went to the balcony to breathe. I told myself to remember who I was. A married man. A Yoruba man raised with values. A man whose house this was.

But values feel weak when loneliness has already done its damage.

Later that night, there was another knock at the gate.

Different car.

Different men.

This time, they did not leave quickly.

I heard raised voices outside. Nkiru ran into the house shaking, begging me to tell them she was not here. She said they were sent by her family. That they would drag her back by force if they found her.

Without thinking, I lied.

I told them no such person lived in my house. That they should leave before I called for help.

They warned me.

“She belongs to people who do not forget,” one of them said before leaving.

That night, Nkiru could not sleep. She sat in the living room, knees pulled to her chest, eyes wide with fear. I sat beside her. We talked until dawn. About freedom. About love. About impossible choices.

Somewhere between fear and comfort, boundaries blurred.

I did not touch her in a way that crossed into s3x. But emotionally, we were already somewhere we had no business being.

When Morenike returned days later, she sensed it immediately.
The air.
The tension.
The secret.
She looked at Nkiru differently now. Like a rival.
And Nkiru, the maid who was once invisible, had become the most powerful presence in our home.
A millionaire heiress hiding from her family.
And a temptation I was no longer sure I could resist.
What would Morenike do if she discovered Nkiru’s true identity?
Would Nkiru’s powerful family return with more force?
Was emotional intimacy already worse than physical betrayal?
Could a forbidden bond between a married Yoruba man and an Igbo heiress ever end without destruction?
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NOTE TO READERS:
This is just episode 2 out of the full 5 Episodes. All episodes are available for free on StoryTera.
Note: This is 100% Fictional, and not having resemblance to any true events or characters.

12/29/2025

My Maid's Secret Life Revealed She Was a Millionaire Heiress Hiding from Her Families
Episode 1: The Quiet Maid in Our House and the First Cracks in My Marriage
I noticed Adanna on a Tuesday morning, not because she did anything dramatic, but because she corrected my wife gently in a way no ordinary maid would dare. My wife, Morenike, had asked her to move a carved wooden bowl from the dining table to the kitchen. Adanna paused, smiled politely, and said, “Ma, that bowl is meant to stay where it is so the wood does not crack from heat.” Her voice was calm, educated, and confident. Morenike frowned but said nothing. I watched from the corridor, surprised.

Adanna had joined our home barely three weeks earlier. She was introduced to us by a distant aunt who claimed the girl was an orphan from the East looking for honest work. My wife liked her humility at first sight. I liked that she was quiet and hardworking. We are Yorubas from a modest but respected background, living in a quiet estate in a made up town I will call Aroko Hills. We wanted peace, not drama.

Adanna was Igbo, from a place she simply called Umuora. She never spoke much about her past. She woke before dawn, cleaned the house thoroughly, cooked with a skill that made me wonder where she learned such refinement, and kept to herself. No phone calls, no visitors, no complaints.

Yet there was something about her that did not fit the story we were told.

She spoke English like someone who had attended good schools. Her Igbo was polished. Even her Yoruba, though accented, was respectful and accurate. She dressed simply, but her posture was that of someone used to comfort, not struggle. When she walked, she carried herself like a woman who knew her worth but had chosen silence.

My marriage to Morenike was already under strain before Adanna arrived. We had been married for six years without a child. The doctors said it was “a shared challenge,” but somehow, the blame always found its way to me during arguments. Morenike had become easily irritated, cold at times, and emotionally distant. Our conversations were mostly about bills, work, or what was missing in our lives.

Adanna unknowingly stepped into that fragile space.

It started with small things. She listened. When Morenike snapped at me during breakfast one morning, Adanna lowered her head and quietly served my tea. Later that day, while cleaning my study, she asked in a soft voice if I preferred ginger in my tea because she noticed I added it myself the day before. That level of observation unsettled me.

One evening, Morenike traveled to attend a family event. I came home late from work, tired and emotionally drained. The house was quiet. Adanna served me dinner without a word, but before she left, she hesitated.

“Sir,” she said, “food tastes better when the heart is at peace.”

I laughed lightly and asked her if she was now a philosopher. She smiled, apologized, and walked away. But her words stayed with me.

Over the next few days, I noticed more things. She read books when she thought no one was watching. Thick books. Business books. Leadership books. One afternoon, I found a newspaper neatly folded in her small room, open to the finance section. I did not confront her, but my curiosity grew.

Morenike, however, began to change toward her.

She complained that Adanna was too proud. That she did not behave like a “proper house girl.” That she took too much initiative. I tried to defend Adanna, saying she was just intelligent and dedicated. That was my mistake. Morenike accused me of taking sides.

“You like her too much,” she said one night, her eyes sharp with suspicion.

I denied it. At that time, I truly believed I had no feelings beyond appreciation. But the truth was, Adanna made me feel seen in ways my wife no longer did.

One rainy evening, the power went out. Morenike was asleep. I sat in the living room, lost in thoughts, when I heard Adanna crying softly from the kitchen. I should have ignored it. I did not.

I asked her what was wrong. She wiped her tears quickly and said it was nothing. I insisted. She hesitated, then said she missed home. That she missed a life she could not return to.

There was pain in her eyes, deep and old.

She told me she once lived in a big house, that her parents were “important people,” and that something happened that forced her to run. She stopped short of details. I did not press. That night, a dangerous bond was formed. Not physical, not yet, but emotional. The kind that sneaks in quietly and destroys foundations.

From then on, we talked more. Briefly. Carefully. Always respectful. But the air between us grew heavy with unspoken things.

Morenike noticed.

She accused Adanna of trying to seduce me, using coded words like “eye service” and “forming gentle.” Adanna denied everything, knelt down, and begged. I felt anger rise in me, not just for Adanna, but for my marriage that had become so bitter.

The irony was cruel. While my wife and I drifted apart, the maid in our house seemed to understand me more.

Then the first shock came.

One afternoon, a black luxury car stopped briefly at our gate. I was upstairs. Adanna was sweeping outside. I saw a well dressed man step out, call her by a different name, and speak urgently. She froze. Her face drained of color. She shook her head violently, whispering “No, no, no.”

The man left quickly when he noticed me at the window.

That night, Adanna did not eat. She did not sleep. And when I gently asked her what was going on, she looked at me with fear and said, “Sir, if you ever hear stories about me, please do not believe them.”

That was the moment I knew the girl in my house was not who she claimed to be.
Not just a maid.
Not just an orphan.
Something far bigger was hiding behind her silence.
And I was already too emotionally entangled to walk away cleanly.
Who was the man in the luxury car, and what name did he call Adanna?
What exactly was Adanna running from, and why was she hiding as a maid?
Would my failing marriage push me into a forbidden emotional attachment?
Was Adanna a victim, or was she hiding a dangerous truth that could destroy my home?
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NOTE TO READERS:
This is just episode 1 out of the full 5 Episodes. All episodes are available for free on StoryTera.
Note: This is 100% Fictional, and not having resemblance to any true events or characters.

12/28/2025

Episode 3: The Price of a Crown and a Broken Heart
The palace was colder than I remembered. The grand halls, the chandeliers, the polished marble floors—all of it felt like a prison rather than a home. I had returned, but my heart was still wandering in Obele, under the mango tree where Chuka had once smiled at me with pure, unwavering trust.

Days passed slowly. My father had noticed my silence and the gloom in my eyes, but he mistook it for fatigue from royal duties. He did not understand that I was mourning a love that could never be mine—not because I didn’t want it, but because of the walls built around me by blood and tradition.

The neighboring prince whom my father had promised to me arrived. His name was Prince Tayo from Ezenna village. He was polite, handsome, and well-mannered—the perfect royal match on paper. But as I spent time with him, my mind drifted to Chuka, and I realized I could never truly give my heart to anyone else.

One evening, as the palace celebrated a festival, I walked alone to the garden to find solace. I saw shadows moving near the outer walls. My heart froze. Could it be Chuka? I ran, hoping it was not a trick of the imagination.

It was him. Chuka, older, tired, but still carrying that same honesty in his eyes.

“Chuka,” I whispered. “How did you find me?”

“I never stopped looking,” he said quietly. “I heard about your marriage plans. I had to see you one last time.”

Tears filled my eyes. “It’s too late. My father will never allow us to be together. I am a princess, and you… you are a carpenter from a village. The world will never accept us.”

He looked at me with a mixture of sadness and determination. “Amara, I don’t care about crowns or kingdoms. I only care about you. But I cannot take you from your life without you being willing. I will not steal you. I will not let you be unhappy because of me.”

His words were honest, but the truth hurt more than I expected. I realized then that my actions—the deception, the leaving the palace, and the secret meetings—had consequences I could not undo. Chuka’s heart had been scarred by my lies, and I had no right to demand his love again.

The festival noise echoed from the palace, and I knew my time with him was limited. We embraced, not with promises, but with silent acknowledgment of what had been. It was a love that had burned bright but could not survive in the world we lived in.

The next day, my father arranged a meeting with Prince Tayo. The proposal was formal, and my heart remained elsewhere. I felt trapped, but I knew I had to obey my duty. I could not risk the kingdom’s honor or my father’s wrath.

Weeks later, I married Prince Tayo. He was kind, respectful, and I learned to appreciate his good heart. But the love I felt for Chuka lingered, like a shadow I could never shake. Sometimes, I would wake in the middle of the night, remembering the warmth of his hands, the way his eyes looked at me with genuine admiration.

Years passed. I bore children and fulfilled my royal duties. But the memory of Chuka never faded. I realized that some loves are meant to teach us lessons rather than last forever. Chuka had shown me the meaning of honesty, humility, and genuine connection. My life with Prince Tayo was comfortable and secure, but my heart had tasted something irreplaceable in Obele—a love that could never be replicated.

One night, while sitting by the window and watching the moon reflect on the palace lake, I whispered into the darkness:

“Chuka, I hope you are happy. I hope your heart found peace, even if mine never fully healed.”

In that moment, I understood that love is not always about possession or endings. Sometimes, love is about learning, understanding, and letting go. And though my life followed the path of duty and tradition, the memory of my brief, pure love with a humble carpenter from Obele would remain the most valuable lesson of all.

Could I have been braver and left everything behind for him?
Would true love ever come my way again, or was it destined to remain a memory?
Is the heart’s longing stronger than a crown’s golden weight?

The End

Moral Lessons:
– True love cannot flourish when it is built on deception; honesty is essential.
– Some love stories are meant to teach, not to last, and accepting this is part of growing.
– Duty, tradition, and responsibility sometimes demand sacrifices that challenge the heart.
– Letting go of what cannot be changes pain into wisdom and strengthens the soul.
– Love is not always possession—it is sometimes a lesson, a memory, and a guide for future choices.
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NOTE TO READERS:
This is just episode 3 out of the full 3 Episodes. All episodes are available for free on StoryTera.
Note: This is 100% Fictional, and not having resemblance to any true events or characters.

12/27/2025

Episode 2: Love Lost in the Shadows of Deceit
The ride back to Umuako palace felt endless. The royal carriage rattled over the dirt roads, and I sat silently, my hands pressed together as if holding my heart from breaking completely. I could hear the guards talking quietly behind me, but I couldn’t focus on anything except Chuka’s shocked face.

I thought about the days we spent together in Obele—the quiet mornings sweeping the floors, the laughter over small meals, the moments when he shared his dreams with me. Was it all a lie now? Had my desperate desire for genuine love destroyed the one chance I had to be happy?

When I arrived at the palace, my father, King Obieze, was waiting. He looked tired, his skin pale, and his eyes held a mix of anger and relief.

“Amara,” he said, his voice stern. “Do you understand what you have done?”

“Yes, father,” I whispered, keeping my head low. “But I only wanted to see the world. I wanted to find someone who loved me for me.”

He sighed deeply. “You are a princess, Amara. You cannot simply pretend to be someone else. You have responsibilities, not just to yourself, but to this kingdom. You cannot abandon your crown for a feeling.”

I tried to explain Chuka, the young carpenter from Obele who never cared for my title, who only saw me as a human being. But my father interrupted sharply.

“There is no place in this palace for a maid’s love story. You will marry a prince from a neighboring kingdom. That is final.”

I felt my chest tighten. I was trapped again—trapped by the golden cage of royalty. The love I had tasted was already slipping through my fingers.

Days turned into weeks, and I tried to forget Chuka. I attended court meetings, sat through royal dinners, and smiled politely at the suitors who came to ask for my hand. My heart was elsewhere, in Obele, with the man whose simple touch had made me feel more alive than any jewel in the palace.

One day, while walking through the palace garden, I received a letter. The handwriting was unfamiliar, messy, but unmistakably Chuka’s.

Amara,
I don’t know why you lied to me. I don’t know why you pretended to be a maid. But I cannot stop thinking of you. I want to see you again. Meet me at the old mango tree in Obele tomorrow night. I will wait.
Chuka

My heart raced. Could I risk it? Could I defy my father, the palace, and all that I had been raised to obey? I could not stop thinking about the moments we shared, the laughter, the dreams, the sincerity in his eyes. My longing overpowered my fear.

That night, I disguised myself once again. I slipped out of the palace with the help of Nwakaego, who looked at me with sadness.

“My daughter,” she whispered, “do not destroy your future. Remember, love is not everything.”

“I have to,” I said, holding back tears. “I cannot live without him.”

The journey to Obele was dangerous. Soldiers patrolled the roads, and the night was dark, with only the stars to guide me. When I reached the mango tree, Chuka was there, waiting, his eyes lighting up when he saw me.

“Amara,” he said, rushing forward. “You came!”

“I had to,” I replied, holding back my emotions. “I cannot live without you, Chuka. I never wanted the palace. I only wanted you.”

He embraced me, and for a moment, everything felt perfect. But love born from lies cannot remain untouched by shadows.

We spent the night under the tree, talking about our dreams and the life we could build together. I told him everything about my real identity, my crown, and the palace that awaited me. He listened silently, and when I finished, he took a deep breath.

“I love you, Amara,” he said, “but I cannot live with lies. You left me before, and I do not know if I can trust you again.”

My heart sank. I had risked everything, yet even my honesty could not repair the damage. We argued, cried, and stayed awake until the moon disappeared behind the clouds.

The next morning, I returned to the palace, my heart heavier than ever. I knew my father would scold me, but I did not care. I had tasted love and had to face the truth: some choices cannot be undone.

Weeks later, I heard that Chuka had left Obele, leaving his tools behind, traveling to a distant village to start anew. He had disappeared from my life completely.

I walked through the palace halls, pretending to be fine, attending royal functions, and smiling at the men who wanted my hand. But inside, I was empty. I had found love, but the love I desired most had slipped through my fingers.

At night, I would sit by the window, staring at the moon and remembering Chuka. His laughter, his eyes, his voice—everything haunted me. I realized that sometimes, the search for true love can lead to heartbreak. Sometimes, even the purest intentions can cause the deepest pain.
Could I ever find someone who would love me for me without lies?
Would I ever see Chuka again, or had I lost him forever?
Was my desire for freedom worth the cost of losing the one person who made my heart feel alive?
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NOTE TO READERS:
This is just episode 2 out of the full 3 Episodes. All episodes are available for free on StoryTera.
Note: This is 100% Fictional, and not having resemblance to any true events or characters.

12/26/2025

The Princess Who Pretended to Be a Maid to Find True Love.
Episode 1: The Hidden Crown of Princess Amara
I was born with everything most girls prayed for—wealth, beauty, respect, and power. My name is Princess Amara, the only daughter of King Obieze of Umuako kingdom. From birth, people bowed when they saw me. Servants rushed to do my bidding, and no one dared to question my words. But what is the use of a crown if it cages your heart?

All my life, I was surrounded by men who only wanted me because of my father’s throne. Some came with sweet words, others with gifts, but I could see the greed in their eyes. None of them loved me for who I was. I wanted to be loved as Amara—the woman—not as Princess Amara, the royal daughter of Umuako.

It all began one rainy afternoon when I overheard two of the palace maids whispering near the kitchen.

“Have you heard? The young carpenter from the next village built the King’s new chair. He’s so humble and hardworking,” one of them said.

Something about that word—humble—hit my chest deeply. I was tired of prideful men who only dressed in royal robes but had empty hearts. That night, I made a decision that changed my destiny forever.

I decided to leave the palace and live among common people. I wanted to see the world from their eyes, to understand what love truly meant.

The next morning, I stood before my mirror. I took off my golden earrings, removed the beaded crown on my head, and packed my long hair into a simple scarf. I wore one of the maid’s faded wrappers and rubbed ashes on my face to hide my fair skin. I looked at myself and almost didn’t recognize the reflection. The Princess of Umuako had become a poor maid.

With the help of Nwakaego, my childhood nurse, I sneaked out of the palace through the old goat path that led to the marketplace. My heart raced as I walked, feeling both fear and freedom at the same time.

By evening, I found myself in a small village called Obele. The place was peaceful, surrounded by tall palm trees and the sweet smell of roasted corn. I met Mama Ifeoma, an old woman who owned a food stall near the village square. She looked at me with suspicion when I begged her for work.

“Who are you, my daughter? You don’t look like someone from this village,” she asked.

“I’m Amara,” I replied softly. “My parents are gone. I need work to survive.”

She studied me for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Alright. You can help me serve food. But I pay small-small, o. No palace money here.”

Her words almost made me laugh. If only she knew that the ‘maid’ before her was a princess with more gold than she could ever imagine. But I stayed humble, nodding my head. That night, I slept on a bamboo mat beside her kitchen. The ground was hard, but my heart was light.

Days turned into weeks. I woke early every morning to fetch water, wash plates, and serve customers. The people liked me because I never complained. Some called me ‘the quiet one,’ others said I was too fine to be a maid. I ignored them all.

One afternoon, while I was sweeping in front of the stall, a young man walked by. He wore a simple shirt and had sweat glistening on his forehead. He was tall, with dark skin and eyes that carried both sadness and strength.

“Good afternoon,” he greeted politely.

“Good afternoon, sir,” I replied shyly.

He smiled. “Don’t call me sir. My name is Chuka.”

That name would later change my life.

Chuka was the village carpenter. He often came to fix Mama Ifeoma’s broken tables or chairs. Sometimes, he stayed to eat after work. He was respectful, hardworking, and spoke with wisdom beyond his years. Every time he talked, my heart listened closely. Unlike the princes and suitors I knew, he didn’t boast about himself. He didn’t know I was a princess, and that was exactly how I wanted it.

We became friends. He told me stories about his late mother and how he was saving money to build her a proper grave. I told him I was an orphan searching for peace. He never pitied me, and I liked that. He treated me like a human being, not a princess or a helpless girl.

One evening, the moon was full, and we sat under a mango tree after closing Mama Ifeoma’s stall. The night air was cool, filled with the sound of crickets.

“Amara,” he said softly. “You are different. You don’t talk much, but when you smile, the world feels lighter. I don’t have much, but I wish I could make you happy every day.”

My heart pounded so hard I thought he could hear it. That was the first time anyone had spoken to me like that—with honesty, not greed.

But love is never that simple.

The next week, the King sent soldiers across neighboring villages. My father had fallen sick, and word spread that the Princess had gone missing. The royal guards came to Obele searching for clues. They moved from house to house, shouting my name.

That evening, Chuka and I were washing plates when we heard the sound of horses.

“Everyone come out!” one of the guards commanded. “The missing Princess of Umuako is believed to be in this village!”

Fear gripped my heart. If they found me, my secret would be over. The love I was beginning to build would crumble before my eyes.

Chuka looked at me, confused by my trembling hands.

“Amara, what’s wrong?” he asked.

Before I could answer, one of the guards’ torches shone directly on my face. The ashes on my skin had faded from sweat, and my real complexion was visible. The guard’s eyes widened in shock.

“It’s her! The Princess!” he shouted.

The villagers gasped. Mama Ifeoma dropped her pot. Chuka stepped back, his mouth open in disbelief.

“You… you’re a Princess?” he whispered.

Tears filled my eyes. “Chuka, please listen. I only wanted to find someone who could love me for me—not for my crown.”

But he didn’t answer. His eyes turned cold, filled with pain and betrayal.

The guards dragged me away from the village that night. I cried all the way back to the palace, my heart breaking with every step. I had found love—but lost it in the same breath.
Would Chuka ever forgive me for lying to him?
Would my father’s kingdom ever accept the kind of love I desired?
Or had I just destroyed the only true connection I ever had?
Type "Next Episode" if you want me to paste Episode 2 on facebook. If I get 50 Likes, I will paste Episode 2 right now.
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NOTE TO READERS:
This is just episode 1 out of the full 3 Episodes. All episodes are available for free on StoryTera.
Note: This is 100% Fictional, and not having resemblance to any true events or characters.

Tera Mayo Funny Storyteller

12/30/2025

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