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their mothers.”
When my son sl:apped me for interrupting his video game, I just lowered my head and walked to the kitchen. I spent three hours baking his favorite triple-chocolate cake
“Does he?”
“Does he what?”
“Stay for me?”
Her expression hardened. “Don’t twist things. He’s stressed. Gaming can become a career now. You wouldn’t get it.”
No. I supposed I wouldn’t understand a career funded by my pension withdrawals and grocery money.
