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On My 16th Birthday, My Father Gave Me $10 and Told Me to Leave. Then I Handed Him an Envelope He Wasn’t Ready to Open.

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stood there, backpack over my shoulder, the driver’s door opened and a man stepped out.

He was tall, maybe fifty, with dark hair graying at the temples and eyes the exact same shade of brown as mine—a shade I’d never seen reflected in Lester’s pale blue or Vicki’s hazel. He wore a charcoal coat and moved with the careful purpose of someone who’d driven continue reading …

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