Seven thousand three hundred twenty-two dollars.
I hid it in a white Piggly Wiggly bag in the back of the dishwasher. Every single time I returned to that tiny apartment, I opened up that Navajo-white Kenmore dishwasher and made sure it was there. It was not a gift. It was not a reward. It wasn’t even mine.
And it still wasn’t enough.
I am from what most people would call “the hood.” The bad...