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Three months in, we were having dinner at a diner near my apartment when he asked about my family.
“It’s just my and me,” I said.
“I’m sorry,” Ethan said quietly.
“It’s okay. My dad raised me on his own. He works for the city.
Sanitation.”
I watched Ethan’s face carefully, waiting for the reaction I’d seen before. The subtle shift, the polite nod that really meant discomfort.
But he just nodded. “That’s hard work.”
“It is,” I said, surprised.
“Does he like it?”
Ethan smiled.
I fell in love with him right then.
A few weeks later, I brought him home to meet my dad.
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