Under those lights, wheeled toward a surgery my own mother would not pay for out of money that was mine, the story finally cracked open, and I saw — too late, I thought, perhaps fatally too late — exactly who had loved me and exactly who had used me.

Chapter 10 — The Brown Envelope

I woke in the middle of the night with a dry throat and a burning pain beneath the bandage.

Amina was in the chair beside the bed, still in the same clothes as the day before.

She moistened my lips, checked the IV line, and then took out a thick, battered brown envelope.

“Don’t try to talk yet,” she said.