The grease beneath my fingernails had become something permanent, as if no amount of scrubbing after long shifts at the workshop could ever fully erase the marks of my daily struggle. Life as a single parent raising triplets had turned into a relentless cycle of exhaustion, responsibility, and constant financial pressure that never seemed to ease.
Every week brought new overdue bills, every month introduced another broken household appliance, and every day felt like a quiet battle against poverty that required more strength than I sometimes believed I had left to give.
The workshop where I worked was modest, tucked behind a row of aging buildings, filled with the steady rhythm of engines, tools, and the familiar…
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