wrote rapidly, tore the page out, and set it on the counter.
“This is for forty thousand dollars,” Ethan said flatly. “It covers your back rent, your credit cards, your medical debt, and the next six months of your expenses.”
Clara gasped, standing up instantly. “No. No, I can’t take that. I asked for fifty dollars! I can’t accept charity like this, I—”
“It’s not charity,” Ethan interrupted, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper that carried the weight of his own painful past. “It’s back pay. And it’s an
