I raised Lauren alone after her father died when she was six.
For most of her childhood, it was just us. I worked in the mortgage department of a credit union, packed lunches before sunrise, and learned how to stretch one paycheck across every emergency a growing child could produce.
She used to call me every day in college.
Lauren knew we were not rich.
She also knew she was loved.
At least, I thought she did.
When she was little, she used to crawl into my bed on Saturday mornings and announce that when she grew up, she was going to buy me a house with « two kitchens and no bills. » I never had the heart to tell her one kitchen was already enough work.
Then, during her junior year, she met Ethan.
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