One afternoon, I finally saw her leaving a luxury salon, looking refreshed and put-together. Anger surged. I followed her outside, ready to confront her, but everything inside me froze when she unlocked her old sedan. A little girl slept in the backseat, curled up with a damaged stuffed rabbit. Blankets, clothes, wrappers, and bags filled the car. Without anyone telling me, I knew—they were living in it.
When Sabrina saw me, guilt washed over her face. After a tense pause, she told me the truth. Her mother had died the day after she borrowed the money. Grief, missed work, and unpaid rent had spiraled into eviction. She’d been sleeping in the car with her daughter Kayla for weeks. The salon visit? A free voucher from a friend—used only because her daughter was scared by how “gray and rainy” she looked.
