I replayed the last few weeks in my mind. She always seemed grateful—for leftovers, for blankets, for even the smallest kindness. I had assumed it was just good manners. It never occurred to me that it was gratitude born of need.
That night, I knocked gently on their bedroom door. She opened it with wide eyes, bracing herself as if she expected bad news.
At the kitchen table, with her sleeves tugged over her hands, she admitted in a trembling voice, “Yeah… I don’t really have anywhere else to go. I’ve been bouncing between friends’ couches. I didn’t want to be a burden.”
Her voice cracked on that last word, and I felt it deep in my chest. She wasn’t making excuses. She was simply telling me the truth.
Continue reading…
