My granddaughter found a diamond ring at Target, and I returned it to its owner. The next morning, a stranger knocked on my door and said he’d been searching for me for years. I wanted to know why, and I wasn’t ready for the answer.
I stood on my porch looking with contempt at this stubborn rich man, even though just a few days ago I hadn’t known he existed.
“You can choke on that ring, but you’ll never see Harper,” I told him through the open door.
Every Friday, Harper and I go to Target. We always pick up milk, bread, and whatever happens to be on sale. I’m seventy years old, and Harper is my seven-year-old granddaughter whom I’m raising completely alone.
Money is tight for us every single month. Some months I literally have to choose between my prescriptions and buying her new shoes. To make matters worse, there’s a tin pot catching drips under the leak in my kitchen ceiling.
