He thought my empty checking account and my dead car meant I had simply given up.

He thought I was sitting in my cold apartment crying over my failure.

I didn’t feel angry anymore, and I didn’t feel sad about losing my own family.

I felt a perfectly cold resolve settling deep into my bones.

That night, I stood in the middle of my small apartment near Riverfront Market.

The harsh yellow desk lamp cast long shadows across the empty living room.

The formal eviction warning lay flat on the kitchen counter, next to a stack of unpaid utility bills.