I never planned on becoming a millionaire and a domestic-violence victim in the same week. The night I realized I’d won the lottery, I was standing under buzzing fluorescent lights at a gas station in Columbus, Ohio, holding a crumpled ticket. The clerk scanned it twice, his face draining. “Ma’am… this says three million.” The number didn’t feel real. Three million dollars. Three million chances at a different life. All the way home I rehearsed how I’d tell my husband, Daniel. We’d been married six years, always one bill away from disaster. In my head he would lift me off...
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