My in-laws are rich. Not just comfortable—rich-rich. Country club memberships, vacation homes, connections that open doors with a single phone call. Success clung to them like perfume. My mom, on the other hand, worked three jobs just to keep the lights on. She cleaned offices before sunrise, served lunches at a small diner until mid-afternoon, and stocked shelves at night when her feet were already swollen. Her hands were always rough, her back always aching, but she never once complained. She used to say, “As long as you don’t have to struggle like I did, I’m fine.” For illustrative purposes...
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