PART 1

My sister asked for my credit card as if she were asking me to pass the salt.

No shame.

No real question.

Just an assumption that my money, my credit, and my future were available whenever hers ran out.

I had been home for less than eighteen hours.

After fourteen months away at Fort Carson, I only wanted ten quiet days with my  family. I wanted my mother’s kitchen, the old porch, the same worn floors I remembered from childhood, and coffee I didn’t have to account for on any form or report.