Once we were back at the house, I caught her packing her suitcase. She was 27 then. “Take care of her,” she muttered when I tried to stop her at the door, throwing her set of house keys at me.
Outside, I saw her getting into a luxury car with a smiling man in the front seat.
The engine purred as they drove away, leaving Emma and me standing in the driveway.
A woman in a beret and a brown coat looking out the window of a car | Source: Pexels
That was the last time I saw her. Afterward, I moved into Mark’s house with Emma and worked every job I could find to keep the mortgage paid and food on the table.
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I cleaned homes until my knees ached, babysat neighbor kids, and waited tables at a local diner until my feet swelled.
Time passed like pages turning. I aged into my 70s with a back that ached every morning and more wrinkles than I could count.
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