But slowly, Andrea started changing.
Not in the “teen movie” way.
No slammed doors. No “I hate you”s.
Just… distant.
She’d come home from his place and walk through our little rented house like she was jet-lagged from a different planet.
One night, we were eating spaghetti at our wobbly kitchen table.
“Mom?” she said, not looking up.
“Dad says life is easier when you don’t stress about money.”
I felt that in my stomach.
“Well,” I said, “money does make some things easier, but—”
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