At home, my dad’s working late shifts and my mom’s juggling two jobs, so I’m expected to manage my mornings mostly alone.
The pressure to keep everything together is constant.
The power in this neighborhood isn’t just in the adults’ hands—it’s in their silence and selective sight.
The owners of that car, neighbors with more influence and money, move through the street as if untouchable.
When I asked around after, the adults either ignored my questions or dismissed the whole thing like it was none of my concern, their voices low and guarded, the kind that made me feel small and invisible.
Since that morning, things have been complicated.
First, the school principal called home, asking why I was late; then, Mrs. Jensen gave me extra homework without explanation.
The neighbors started giving cold looks my way.
Read more on the next page ⬇️⬇️⬇️
