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contemptuously.
“A VIP suite?” she mocked, kicking the leg of my bed and making me wince. “My son works himself to death so you can waste money on silk pillows and room service? You really are a useless freeloader.”
He threw a crumpled document on the table. “Sign this. It’s a waiver of parental rights. Karen, your sister-in-law, is infertile. She needs continue reading …
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