a small furnished place I occasionally used when work kept me downtown.
I never imagined I would need it because my own family had thrown me out.
I carried everything upstairs, changed out of my wet clothes, and sat on the bed.
For the first time all evening, my hands shook.
I wasn’t crying over losing a bedroom.
I cried because I finally understood that my family had accepted years of sacrifice without ever recognizing any of it as sacrifice.
To them, my money was always available.
My time meant
