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time my mother humiliated me, I’d played my part. Laughed weakly, made self-deprecating jokes, or gone quiet. I’d apologized for making her feel unappreciated.
But unlike all those other times, I wasn’t empty-handed now. I had numbers of my own.
“Mom,” I said.
My voice cut through like someone had opened a window. Forty-eight faces turned.
“Since we’re continue reading …
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