My dad saw me limping down our quiet street, my baby on my hip—no car, no help. He frowned. “Why are you walking? I bought you an SUV.” I looked at him, took a breath… and finally whispered the truth he was never meant to hear.

By the time Dad turned into the cracked parking lot of Derek’s parents’ apartment complex, my mouth had gone dry. The place looked exactly the way it always did in the late afternoon: sun-faded stucco, bent railings, a few dead plants in forgotten pots, and a row of cars tucked under crooked metal shade covers. Patricia’s white SUV sat in its usual space. Derek’s truck was parked two spots over. And my car was there too. Mine, even if the title said otherwise. I knew that blue sedan from every angle. I had spent two years making those payments out of my own paycheck while Derek drifted from one plan to the next and Patricia kept reminding everyone how generous she was for letting us stay. Seeing my car parked there, close to the building, exactly where I should have been able to use it, made something twist low in my stomach.

Dad shut off the engine and looked at me. “Can you walk?”

I nodded automatically.

He glanced at my ankle, then lifted an eyebrow. “Can you walk enough to get inside and get your things?”

That question stopped me cold.

Get my things.