I remember cr*ing somewhere around the second mile.
I remember thinking I was an idiot.
That I was seventeen and homeless-adjacent and could not afford to be kind to anyone.
I remember promising myself I would be more careful with what little I had.
I had no way of knowing that the ten dollars I gave away in the rain that night would turn out to be the best investment I ever made.
Twenty-seven years passed.
I am forty-four now.
I became a medical billing clerk, of all things, which is a cruel joke I’ll get to.
My girls grew up.
Mia is funny and sharp and stubborn like me.
Ava is gentle and steady and the calmest person I know.
But life never did hand me that easy door I believed in at seventeen.
It just handed me more hills.
Two years ago, Mia got sick.
Really sick.
