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I worked at a small, family-owned restaurant — nothing glamorous. And before you imagine me waiting tables, I wasn’t even allowed near customers. Management thought I looked “too green” for front-of-house work, so I was stuck in the back, scraping gum off chairs, bussing tables, and scrubbing dishes until my fingers wrinkled.
But I never complained. Not once.
After my parents died in a car accident, I inherited their old house — along with the debt they left behind. Grief didn’t stop the mortgage company from sending letters. The weight of that debt was crushing.
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