“He says if I lived with him, I’d have my own room and my own bathroom,” she said, cutting me off. “He said I could put a TV on the wall and pick my own bed.
And that they’d hire someone to decorate it for me.”
I looked around our place.
Two bedrooms. One shared bathroom. Peeling paint.
No decorating “plan,” just whatever I could afford from thrift stores and Facebook Marketplace.
“Oh,” I said.
She twisted her fork in her pasta.
“Dad says his wife really wants to be a mom,” she added quietly. “He said she’s been waiting for a kid for years and she loves me already.”
That one hurt.
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