Sometimes it is the only reason that family is forced to become honest.
On my first night in the townhouse, I sat on the living-room floor eating takeout from a cardboard container. Snow began falling beyond the windows, softening the street and gathering on the steps of the neighboring homes.
There was no fine china.
No chandelier.
No luxury car in the driveway.
There was only an empty room I could fill however I chose and a front door no one could use without my invitation.
Before going upstairs, I returned to the kitchen.
The brass keys were still resting on the island.
I picked them up, closed my fingers around them, and turned off the light.
For the first time in my life, the keys in my hand did not come with someone else’s debt.
Disclaimer: This story is fictional and created for entertainment purposes only. Any names, characters, places, or events are fictitious or used fictitiously. No real person or organization is intended to be portrayed.
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