And it was a daughter who finally understood that her mother could be both loved and independent.
Sometimes, when Michelle visits, she still looks around my little house and says, “I wish you had more room.”
And I tell her the same thing every time.
“I have enough room, honey. I have enough room for me.”
Because at sixty-seven, I had finally received something I had spent a lifetime giving to other people.
A place of my own.
And I would never again mistake the price of a room for the value of a woman.
