told stories about her younger years—working in a bookstore, losing her husband young, learning how loneliness changes shape as you age.
And somehow, I started telling her things too.
Things I never told anyone.
About foster homes.
About learning not to attach too deeply.
About living paycheck to paycheck because planning for a future felt arrogant when survival already took everything you had.
One evening, she muted the television suddenly.
“You only think about surviving next month,” she said.
I shrugged.
“That’s usually the important part.”
“No,” she replied sharply. “
