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I packed a single duffel bag with clothes and a few precious belongings, walked out of their expensive house in the nice neighborhood, and went straight to Michael.
The family that took me in when my own abandoned me
Michael’s parents—middle-class, hardworking people who lived in a modest split-level house—opened their door to me without a moment’s hesitation. They gave me their spare bedroom, the one that had been Michael’s older sister’s before she’d moved out. They never once made me feel like a charity case or a burden, never made me feel like I owed them something for their kindness.
I helped care for Michael in those early months—learning how to safely transfer him from his wheelchair, how to assist with his physical therapy exercises,
