I counted every penny, stretching each paycheck until the paper thinned like the edge of my patience.
Dating became a distant memory; the only dates I cared about were the ones on the calendar marked “Doctor’s Visit” and “Insurance Renewal.”
One evening, after a 12‑hour shift, I stumbled into the kitchen, exhausted, and heard a soft, unified chorus.
“Dad,” the three tiny voices sang, their eyes wide, their mouths forming the word with a reverence I’d never anticipated.
The sound hit me like a freight train; tears flooded my eyes, hot and unbidden.
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