“Emily, where’s the silver crossover I bought you?” Aunt Clara asked at dinner. Before I could answer, my mother smiled. “Her brother needed it more.”

I’d sought her approval, convinced that making myself useful would eventually earn her love.

Now I understood love couldn’t be bought through sacrifice.

I put down my phone.

“Are you going to answer?” Clara asked.

“Maybe someday,” I said. “When I’m ready.”

Then I glanced around my modest apartment, at my nursing certificates hanging on the wall and my car keys resting beside my plate.

They were simple possessions.

But they were mine.

And nobody would take them from me again.