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“Like I was being bought.
Like my answer had a price. If I choose Dad, I get stuff. If I chose Mom, I get… nothing.”
I wanted to jump up and shout that she gets everything with me—just not the kind you plug in or wear.
But I stayed sitting, digging my nails into my palms.
“And what do you want?” the judge asked.
“Not what anyone offered you. Not what anyone asked you to say. What do you, Andrea, actually want?”
She looked at her dad.
Then at me.
Then down at her hands.
“I don’t want to live with someone who buys my answers,” she said finally.
My ex made this strangled sound.
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