While my 8-year-old daughter was in the hospital fighting for her life, my parents sold our belongings and gave our room to my sister because I was late with one payment.

Rosie the rabbit peeked from her backpack. Daniel stood close, not as my husband again, but as her father and my ally. I wore a blue wool coat I had bought secondhand for twelve dollars more than my mother had sold Mia’s winter coat for.

My father took one step forward. “Lena.”

Mia’s hand tightened around mine.

I looked down at her. “Do you want to say continue reading …