I tried to pay her, but she shook her head. “You finish school. That’s enough.”
So I did, slowly, one class at a time. Lily and Mae grew up in that small, raggedy apartment, then another, then something a little better after I got steady work doing administrative support for a small firm. It wasn’t easy, but for a while, that felt like enough.
Twenty-seven years passed. I am 44 now, and my girls have grown. But two years ago, somehow, life found a way to pull me under again.
Mae got seriously ill when she was 25. It started small. Then it wasn’t. Doctor visits turned into procedures, and procedures turned into bills that didn’t stop. I worked longer hours, picked up extra jobs, and cut back on everything. It still wasn’t enough. I was drowning.
