I thought the hardest part of being a single mom was learning how to say “we can’t afford it” without letting my daughter hear the shame in my voice. Then one small act of kindness at her school turned into a phone call that made my blood run cold.
I’m a single mom, and most weeks feel like a dare.
I work two jobs. I stretch every dollar until it screams. I know exactly how much gas I need to get to Friday. I know which bill can wait three days and which one cannot.
My daughter, Mia, is 9. She is usually loud in the best way. She comes through the door talking before her backpack even hits the floor. School drama. Playground politics. Questions about dinner before lunch has even fully worn off.
