She put me in the best schools, enrolled me in piano lessons, taught me posture, eye contact, and how to write perfect thank-you notes. She didn’t raise me to be happy. She raised me to be unbreakable.
By twenty-seven, I’d stopped trying to impress her. There was no winning. Still, I told her I was seeing someone.
We met at her favorite restaurant—dark wood, crisp linens. She wore navy, ordered wine before I sat down.
“So,” she said, studying me. “Is this important?”
“I’m seeing someone. Her name is Anna. She’s a nurse.”
Approval flickered. “Good. Parents?”
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