EVELYN
Every time I woke up, the first thing I did was confirm that the thousand dollars was still under my pillow before even confirming if I was alive. That's what desperation could cause. Life became secondary when survival was at stake.
The rustle of the crumpled notes under my finger was the only thing grounding me some mornings. Not the sun that seeped through the old curtain, not the sound of birds, not even the breath in my lungs but that thick wad of cash. It wasn't just money. It was escape. It was a possibility. It was proof that, even if just barely, I was still in control. And that made me strangely happy. Not in the way people smile at surprises or love songs but in a quiet, lonely kind of way. The kind of happiness that tastes like relief instead of joy.
It had become part of me, woven into my routine like brushing my teeth or using my deodorant twice. Some people needed coffee to feel human in the morning. I needed my thousand dollars. I needed to feel it there, right
