Lauren looked at her mother.
“I remember the sandwiches. Turkey, I think.”
“I remember the sentence.”
Denise turned back to her.
“You don’t always get paid back by the same hand you helped. Sometimes kindness takes the long way home.”
Lauren wanted to believe that.
She really did.
But there was an eviction clock ticking now.
There were pills on the bathroom shelf that would run out.
There were late notices in a stack on the kitchen table under a rubber band.
Hope sounded expensive tonight.
Her phone buzzed again.
LANDLORD.
She silenced it without answering.
Denise saw the screen.
“He called?”
Lauren nodded.
“What did he say?”
“That he’ll be here soon if I don’t come up with something.”
“How soon?”
Lauren looked away.
“Tonight.”
For the first time, Denise’s face changed.
Not fear exactly.
Something worse.
Shame.
It hit Lauren like a fist.
This was what poverty did.
