I didn’t hesitate. I sent Desmond Connerty the money—exactly 57 dollars, not a penny more, not a penny less.The second he got it, he fired back an “I love you” sticker.Without changing my expression, I tucked my phone into my pocket and rested my head against the bus window.Outside, the streets were bright and crowded with people going about their lives.But inside, I just felt colder and colder.By the time night fell, I finally made it home—exhausted, hungry, and frozen from the ride.The moment I opened the door, the warm, rich smell of food hit me.In the dining room, Desmond and his cousin Janet Connerty were eating steak off my gold-trimmed dinner plates and drinking my treasured bottle of Lafite.The second Janet saw me, she quickly grabbed a plate of burnt stir-fried vegetables and said sweetly,“Amy, come try the dish I made for you! I know you can’t handle greasy food while you’re pregnant, so I made you something light.”Desmond immediately chimed in, all gentle
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