my quarterly statement, I stared at the balance as though it belonged to someone else.
I moved into a one-bedroom apartment closer to Ruth’s facility.
Ten minutes away instead of thirty.
Nothing fancy.
A small balcony.
Morning sunlight.
Enough room for my cat to stretch across a sunbeam.
It felt luxurious.
On weekends, I visited Ruth.
She liked cherry pie.
I preferred pecan.
We watched Jeopardy reruns while she yelled at contestants for missing easy questions and I refilled her tea.
For those two hours, the world felt manageable.
I
