Chapter 19

  I never imagined my life would come to this. Sleeping on the floor of a cramped, windowless room, pressed against the peeling paint of a wall that isn't mine. Marisol doesn’t ask questions when I show up at her door with nothing but a bag and the clothes on my back. She just nods, moves a stack of laundry off the corner, and gestures for me to come inside.

  For two weeks, this is my world. The thin, uneven blanket on the floor, the sound of voices I don’t recognize drifting through the paper - thin walls. The constant shuffle of too many people in a space too small. The faint scent of fried food clinging to everything, the dampness in the air that no amount of open windows could fix.

  I am grateful, I tell myself. I repeat it like a mantra when I wake up, my back stiff, my body aching from sleeping on the hard surface. I am grateful. But beneath the surface, resentment simmers. This wasn’t supposed to be my story. I wasn’t supposed to be someone crashing on a friend’s floor, whispering at night when I talk to my daughter on the phone, so no one else hears. I wasn’t supposed to be dependent on the kindness of others to survive. I built things. I created. And now, I scavenge.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Then, one night, Danny finds me. He stands in the doorway, looking around the small, suffocating room, his expression carefully neutral. But I see the tension in his jaw, the flicker of something—pity? Disappointment?—before he schools his features.

  "You don’t have to stay here," he says. "Come to my place. It’s not much, but at least you’ll have a couch."

  The way he says it, casual but deliberate, makes me pause. There is no judgment in his voice, no expectation. Just a statement, an offering. And for the first time in weeks, I allow myself to accept something without feeling like I’m losing a piece of myself in return.

  Before I leave, Marisol pulls me into a tight hug. Her warmth, her steadiness, it grounds me for a moment. She whispers in Spanish, "Ten suerte, ten fe, no tengas miedo. Eres fuerte, eres súper, recuerda siempre eso. Eres especial." I hold onto those words longer than I expect, tucking them away like a secret I’ll need later.