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I looked at Marcus. For the first time that evening, there was confusion in his eyes — not anger, not shame, but the realization that a line had already been crossed. Then I looked at Veronica and Franklin, people accustomed to solving discomfort with money.
I opened my old bag and took out my phone. I showed the screen — an email from a corporate domain, a signature, a title, numbers. Franklin fell silent. Simona turned pale.
— Forty thousand dollars a month, I continued. — Regional Operations Director. I live modestly not because I can’t afford otherwise, but because I don’t want money to define who I am or the role I play in my son’s life.
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