For the first time, I let myself cry.
But they’re not tears of defeat.
They’re tears of hope.
Because maybe tomorrow we’ll find a job board, or a resource center, or someone who knows someone. Maybe someone will give us a chance. Maybe I’ll find work, even if it’s just sweeping or stacking shelves. I’d do anything.
And maybe—just maybe—my boys won’t have to know the full truth of what we’ve been through until they’re old enough to understand how hard I fought to keep their world from falling apart.
Maybe one day, when they’re grown, they’ll remember this time as that fun summer when Dad took them camping.
And maybe that’s enough.
