“That’s not fair,” he says sharply. “Work is for us. Work is how I love you—” He breaks off, staring at the floor. “I didn’t…I don’t mean that exactly. Work is one of the ways that I show you that I love you. By working hard, so we’re protected, so we’re financially secure.” I sigh and drop to the mattress. This conversation. Again. Aiden grew up in extreme poverty. A single mom who struggled to make ends meet. A dad who split when Aiden was a toddler. And I understand this, abstractly at least: poverty is traumatic. Aiden’s worries about money—his exacting need to have all the bills in an
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