But it was ours.
The first evening there, Lily sat on the floor surrounded by cardboard boxes.
“Is this really our home?”
I looked around.
“Yes.”
She frowned.
“It doesn’t look like our old house.”
“No.”
“Do you think we’ll like it?”
I swallowed.
“I think we’ll make it ours.”
She nodded as if that was enough.
Children can be incredibly brave when adults are trying not to fall apart.
For the first few months, I worked extra hours at the school district.
I learned how much electricity cost.
I learned how to stretch groceries across a week.
I learned how to say no when Lily asked for things I couldn’t afford.
And I learned something else.
Fear becomes quieter when you have no choice but to keep moving.
Then one rainy Thursday evening, I met Albert.
I was driving home when I saw him beneath an elm tree.
He was standing alone on the sidewalk.
