I thought of all the strange, lucky things that had happened to me over the years.
Things I had chalked up to good fortune, or to finally catching a break.
The anonymous scholarship that appeared out of nowhere in 2007 and let me finish my associate’s degree with two kids at home.
The night the library gave me a raise I hadn’t asked for, from a “new endowment.”
The used but reliable minivan a dealership said had been “paid forward by a previous customer” when I came in with barely enough for a down payment.
The apartment, years ago, where the new manager had “accidentally” never raised my rent for a decade.
The Christmas the twins were nine, when a box of winter coats in exactly their sizes arrived at the library with no card.
The scholarship letter I had read four times because I couldn’t believe a stranger would do that for a girl they’d never met.
