“We always do.”

I looked down at the two grocery bags sitting beside my work boots.

The plastic loops dug into my fingers as I lifted the bags off the concrete porch.

The front door stayed firmly shut.

Behind the thick wood, Ranata was talking in that condescendingly sweet tone she always used for bad news.

I heard my own name.

I heard the word bankrupt.

I heard Helen ask a quiet question about how much time I had left.