Thirty days. No savings. No plan. Nowhere to go.
Three days before we were supposed to start packing, I found another envelope buried beneath the overdue notices and utility shutoff warnings. It stood out immediately—plain white, no return address, my name written carefully across the front.
Rebecca Thomas.
My heart thudded. Another bad omen, I thought. Another reminder of everything slipping through my fingers.
But when I opened it, the words stole the air from my lungs.
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