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On Christmas morning, my millionaire son asked if Amanda’s $5,000 monthly support had finally made me comfortable.

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There was no note.

Daniel wanted to throw it away. I told him no. I placed it on the mantel beneath the wall clock. Not because I forgave Amanda. Not because I wanted to remember her.

Because every time I saw it, I remembered the exact morning my son returned to me completely.

The candle was never lit.

By the next Christmas, my house smelled of cinnamon,continue reading …

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