Chapter 4

Back at my rented apartment, I made up the fold-out bed for my parents and boiled some water.

My mom took the mug, hesitating before she spoke. "Freda, I've been thinking... maybe you shouldn't be so hard on Elliott. His mother is difficult, but Elliott really does love you. Look at all those paintings he does of you. His friends, his social media—everyone knows how much he adores you. I don't care about my pride. I just want you to be happy."

I knelt down and took her hands in mine. They were rough, like sandpaper, with deep lines that no soap could ever wash clean. Fifteen years of scrubbing other people's floors had left their mark.

"Mom, your pride is my pride."

She stared at me, tears welling in her eyes, before she hurriedly wiped them away with her sleeve.

My dad muttered from the doorway, "Let's get some sleep. We'll figure it out tomorrow."