Chapter 5: The Last Motel

After leaving the Evans family, I managed to rent a tiny room on the outskirts of town, thanks to a favor I’d earned by helping an old lady chase away stray dogs.

It was one of those motels-turned-boarding-houses on Route 60, where the wallpaper peeled and the neighbors argued late into the night. The neon vacancy sign flickered outside my window, painting the cracked ceiling in sickly red light. Sometimes, trucks from the highway shook the walls.

The place was awful—barely big enough for a bed, with a shared bathroom down the hall. The air always smelled of sewage, and flies buzzed everywhere.

I kept a can of air freshener by the door and wore flip-flops to the bathroom. The window didn’t lock, so I jammed a broom handle under the sill at night.

It was harsh, but I could handle it. Before the Evans family, my living conditions weren’t much better.

Hardship felt familiar, almost like home. I knew how to keep my food in Tupperware so the roaches wouldn’t get it.

But my mom couldn’t stand it. When she woke up in pain again, she slapped me, insisting she wanted to go back to the Evans family, to continue being Mrs. Evans.

She screamed that she belonged there, that this dump was my fault. Her handprint burned on my cheek for hours.

I touched my numb face and said, "Then go ahead—crawl back if you want. I’m done."

I meant it. I was tired of being her punching bag.

She didn’t realize that the day she was kicked out, the Evans mansion already had a new mistress. Men—every woman is replaceable to them.

I’d seen the new woman: sleek hair, expensive perfume, already making changes to the kitchen.

She’d enjoyed ten years of luxury. That was enough.

Ten years is a lifetime in a house like that. I wasn’t sure she’d ever realize it was over.

She tried to hit me again, but I jerked back, her hand missing my face by an inch.

My reflexes had gotten faster—years of ducking taught me well.

I hated my mom, but I couldn’t abandon her. After Grandma Carol died, she was the only family I had left in this world.

No matter what she did, she was my last anchor, and that hurt worse than anything.