They love men who wear clean loafers and speak confidently about the market.
They love women who smile through disappointment and call it grace.
What they do not love is mess.
What they do not forgive is a woman who leaves.
My name is Rae Bennett.
I’m thirty-five years old.
I live in a two-bedroom townhouse on the south side of town with my son, a laundry closet that groans like it resents us, and a kitchen table that has seen homework, tears, cereal spills, birthday cupcakes, and more late-night bill sorting than I care to admit.
I work as a marketing manager for a small software company downtown.
The job is good.
It is steady.
It is not glamorous.
I used to think that was a flaw.
Now I think steady is one of the most beautiful words in the English language.
For the last two years, I’ve been raising Ethan on my own.
That was not the plan.
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