Back home, I placed the plant on my table and began to search, more out of curiosity than hope. When my fingers brushed the sealed bag under the soil, the weight of the coins felt unreal. Gold, old and heavy, gleamed in my shaking hands. In that still moment, grief shifted into something softer. My stepmother had seen me after all—seen my effort, my loyalty, my quiet presence. The coins were wealth, yes, but more than that, they were proof that love can be deliberate, private, and fiercely on your side, even when no one else is.
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