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There was over seventy thousand dollars in there.”
Walter’s jaw locked. Margaret went pale.
Four years earlier, my mother had looked at my thirteen-year-old daughter, Lily, and said, “She’ll probably just get married anyway,” as if she were commenting on weather. That same afternoon, my parents had proudly announced they were putting thirty-five thousand dollars aside for each of Derek’s sons.
Nothing for Lily. Not a bond, not a savings account, not even the courtesy of pretending they’d forgotten.
I remembered the way Lily had kept eating her mashed potatoes, eyes lowered, pretending she hadn’t heard.
Walter finally spoke.
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