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I drove 500 miles to be with family, only for my father to call me an “em.bar.ras.s.ment” at the table. His reason? My truck.

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real.”

“Me neither,” I whispered. “But we have to use it wisely. We can’t let it change who we are.”

She squeezed my hand. “No boasting,” she agreed. “No showing off. We build something better. Something lasting.”

We fell asleep holding onto that promise like a rope.

The next morning, reality tested it immediately.

When we returned to our Chicago apartment continue reading …

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