I stopped at a kiosk to buy a bottle of water, my hand shaking slightly as I tapped my card. Not from sadness—from the sheer, blinding clarity of it all. For years, I had been the silent architect of their comfort. I remembered the day Brittany graduated college. My mother, Constance, had pulled me aside, tears welling in her perfectly mascaraed eyes, whispering that the eighty-thousand-dollar student loan debt was crushing the family.
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