I could have asked again.

I could have pulled the drawer open and taken the photograph back.

Instead, I went to the kitchen, retrieved the cupcake container, and threw it away.

Then I took the rent scrap from my pocket, smoothed its folded edge against the counter, and slipped it into my wallet beside my driver’s license.

The two hundred and fifty dollars would be due in four days.

I had enough saved to pay it, but not enough to move out, replace my shoes, and fix the alternator in my Buick, which had already begun to complain whenever I turned the ignition.