* BARBIE'S POINT OF VIEW * “I grew up in a house without a father, and my mother was a prostitute. I spent my childhood watching men come and go through our front door every single day. She didn't feed me, she didn't care if I was breathing, and I was mostly a ghost in my own home. Then, one day, I overheard her negotiating with a man… she was going to sell me off. So, I ran.” Silence fell between us, as my chest felt tight, like I couldn’t pull in enough air. I didn’t know what to say — how do you respond to a lifetime of pain like that? He wasn’t just the man sitting in front of me anymore. He was that little boy — hungry, unwanted, running for his life. And it scared me… how much I cared. I looked into his eyes and saw a raw, ragged pain… “Aaron…” I whispered, my heart breaking for that little boy. “I jumped from one hell straight into another,” he continued, his voice tight. “Living on the streets, fighting for scraps, until a man approached me. He promised me a job that c
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