My Grandmother Found Me And My Daughter In A Shelter—Then Asked Why We Weren’t Living In Our House On Hawthorne Street

and other people’s despair. The cot was narrow, designed for one person, maybe one and a half if you were optimistic. We made it work by sleeping like spoons, Laya’s small body curled against mine, her breath steady and warm against my arm through the night.

Outside, the sky was a bruised gray, threatening snow. Inside, I was rummaging through a plastic continue reading …