The Janitor Girl Sang One Song, and the Billionaire’s Son Stopped Laughing

”

“Honey—”

“And the prize fund.”

“Eliza, you cannot put all that on one song.”

I looked at the paper.

Then at her.

“It stopped being one song a long time ago.”

She reached for my hand.

Her fingers were thin and cold.

“Your grandmother would be so proud of you.”

I wanted to cry.

Instead, I squeezed her hand.

“Then I’ll give her something worth hearing.”

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