The Day They Locked Me in the Dark

My father owed fifty-five thousand dollars to an unsecured private lender.

For four years, I lived on store-brand oatmeal, wore the same salt-stained winter coat, and picked up weekend transcription shifts until my wrists throbbed. I paid it off dollar by dollar, check by cashier’s check.

The day the final receipt came in the mail happened to be his fifty-eighth birthday.

I bought a bakery carrot cake on my way home, climbing the familiar porch steps with the quiet, naive hope that he might look at me and finally say, Thank you, Tessa. You carried us.