We live in a small rented apartment on the second floor of an old building. The rent is okay, but there’s no washing machine. Laundry piles up, and I haul it down the street to the laundromat with its blinking neon sign and sticky floors.
That morning, after a long night shift, I walked in exhausted. My eyes burned, my body ached, my brain felt foggy—and the laundry basket was overflowing. I let out a long sigh.
Mom was still sleeping, recovering from staying up most of the night with Willow while I worked. I didn’t want to wake her. She needed rest as much as I did.
I bundled Willow in her jacket, stuffed the dirty clothes into a bag, and headed out.
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