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30 By the time my husband walked into our living room, the photograph of him sleeping beside his mistress was nearly six feet tall and hanging directly beneath the chandelier. His mistress was not a stranger, a coworker, or some woman he had met on a business trip. She was Celeste Blackwell, his own stepmother and the wife of his father, Harrison. I had invited the entire Blackwell family to dinner without telling a single one of them what would be waiting on the wall.