My mother slammed my laptop shut so hard the screen shattered across the coffee table. “Your dreams are trash,” she hissed. Behind her, my sister laughed, waving the baby monitor like a trophy. “No job, no money, no place here.” I gripped my suitcase, pretending to cry—but inside that broken laptop was already backed up, and by midnight, their perfect little secret would reach the wrong hands.
My mother broke my laptop like she was breaking my spine. The screen exploded across the coffee table, black glass glittering between…
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