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squeals and camera flashes. I’d stood to the side with my blue ribbon hanging awkwardly.
Dad had looked at us both and said, “She’s the pretty one. You’re the smart one, Holly. That’s okay. You’ll have to work harder, but you’ll be fine.”
Work harder.
I had. Scholarships. Double shifts at the diner to cover tuition gaps. Nights hunched over a laptop teaching continue reading …
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