My apartment was quiet except for the hum of the fridge and my mom’s TV murmuring down the hall.
I thought about college Claire, who would’ve bent over backward to fix this for Sophie, who would’ve apologized for making her look bad, who would’ve offered to come steam the dress for free, and smile at everyone.
I wasn’t her anymore.
I had bills, a mom who needed me, and a job that deserved to be treated like a job—not a cute little hobby to be exploited.
The next morning, I opened my laptop and typed up an invoice for Sophie, anyway.
Materials, hours, and rush work fee.
It wasn’t an outrageous amount. It was just fair.
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