9 and let myself into a quiet house where my sons were sleeping safely only because I had paid the neighbor’s teenager forty dollars I didn’t have.
I sat on the hallway floor.
I didn’t cry.
Instead, I started another list.
We had a family group text.
My mother had named it the Youngs years ago with a little blue heart, back when she still cared about looking close.
The next morning, I sent a message there.
Careful.
Small.
The kind of message you write when you suspect the answer
