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After I spent $77,000 covering my brother’s wedding, he deliberately sent me to the wrong city in Italy as a joke. I landed alone in Naples while the real celebration was happening in Florence. The next day, he texted, “LOL, I just didn’t want to invite you,” and my mother piled on by saying the whole mess was somehow my fault. I didn’t argue. I didn’t beg. I smiled, came home, and had a four-foot gift delivered straight to her door. When she saw it, she broke down crying and called me asking, “Can I please pay you back?”

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anyway. My mother laughed too. Not big. Just enough to tell me where she stood.

At twenty-five, I should’ve known Italy wouldn’t be different.

The taxi dropped me in Naples. The wedding was in Florence.

I stood outside a cheap hotel with my suitcase in one hand and my phone in the other, staring at the wrong address. The confirmation email Ethan sent continue reading …

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