I Thought I Was an Orphan Until I Learned What the Key Around My Neck Really Opened

Every evening after work, I walked past the boutique on Main Street — not because I could afford the dresses, but because I dreamed of making them. I wasn’t a designer; I was just a cashier in a black polo with calloused hands and a sketchbook full of napkin drawings. The mannequins in the window…
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