True story. I cooked, cleaned & paid bills in my daughter’s house. She said, “If you can’t work, what’s the point of you being here?”

figure it out.

And the door to the garage closed behind her.

I went to my room.

I sat down on the bed very slowly because of my back.

I looked at the two boxes of things I had brought from my old apartment that I still hadn’t fully unpacked.

I looked at a framed photograph on the small dresser, Lauren and her brother as children, gap-toothed and squinting continue reading …