February 10, 2026
Her name was Bethany. Perhaps we were destined to meet. After my mother died—I took care of Connie for 13 years—we lived hand-to-mouth. I was debilitated by daily migraines and chronic fatigue from a misdiagnosed pituitary tumor, and worked sporadically, so we couldn’t afford a city rent. We packed our meagre belongings, and found a…
