While my younger brother, Deacon, coasted through life—dropping out of college, yet still getting rewarded with a brand-new car “for his potential”—I was working double shifts, putting myself through nursing school, and folding laundry no one ever thanked me for.
I’ll never forget the night I overheard my father boasting about Deacon’s “bright future,” while I scraped together bus fare after a 12-hour shift on my feet.
Except Grandma Esme.
A Lifeline in a Voicemail
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