PART 1 — THE MAN AT THE DOOR

My mom, Sarah, raised me almost entirely on her own.

My father left when I was little, and from then on, Mom worked constantly to give me every opportunity she could.

Extra shifts.

Weekend work.

Coupons organized in a kitchen drawer.

Shoes she wore until the soles became smooth.

She rarely spent money on herself, yet somehow she was at every school concert, parent meeting, award ceremony, birthday dinner, and ordinary Wednesday when I needed her.

For years, almost everything she did was for me.

Once I graduated from college, found a good job, and became independent, I started encouraging her to finally make herself a priority too.

“You’ve spent enough years making sure I’m happy,” I told her once.

“I want you to do things because you want them.”

She laughed.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know.

Travel.

Take a class.

Buy something without checking whether I need new tires first.”

She rolled her eyes.