The first night I slept there, I woke before sunrise and made coffee in Grandma’s old mug. Mist hovered over the water. No one was shouting. No one was calling me a junkie. No one was telling me what I deserved.
I stepped onto the porch with the deed folded safely inside my desk.
They had tried to bury me beneath the worst years of my life, but Grandma had left me proof that I was more than my past.
And this time, paper remembered the truth.
