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Dad cleared his throat. “We saw your video. You’ve made quite a name for yourself.”
Mom nodded stiffly. “Your foundation… it’s doing well. We’re proud of you.”
And there it was — the same blindness, the same imbalance.
I smiled politely. “Of course, Mom. But I’ll be helping kids who really need it — not those already born into comfort.”
Their faces froze. I didn’t say anything more. I didn’t need to.
That night, as I walked home, my phone buzzed with a notification: another donation had come in. The Hartley Foundation had just reached $250,000.
I didn’t need their pride anymore. I had built my own.
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