Blood and Inheritance
After two years abroad in seclusion as I recovered, I received a selfie from my daughter, Lila Ashford. She was sitting on a bike, dressed in a work uniform.
"Mom, you’ll be home soon, right? I miss you so much."
My heart softened as I thought about how my girl had grown up. She understood that she needed to start from the bottom and work her way up.
I was about to praise her when I noticed her skin seemed tanner, and her fitted shirt was the same one I’d bought her three years ago.
It was frayed and worn thin, yet she still hadn’t thrown it away. As a child of the wealthiest family, Lila shouldn’t have to live like this, not even for "life experience".
I zoomed in on the picture again.