The supervisor turned to me.
“We’re sorry about this. We’ll cover the full cost of repairing your vehicle. Your neighbor will pay.”
“Thank you,” I said.
Then Olivia stepped forward and held out her juice box.
“My mom says a cold drink helps on a hard day.”
Valerie stared at it like it was a weapon.
Weeks later, my Chevrolet was repaired, and the porch had a fresh coat of yellow paint.
A “For Sale” sign appeared next door after Valerie’s fines came through.
One evening, Olivia curled up beside me on the porch as the sun set over the lake.
“Mom, we’re home now, right?”
“Yeah, baby,” I whispered. “We’re home.”
My dad hadn’t just left me a house.
He’d left me a home.
