We had a small house with a large backyard.
Sunday pancakes.
Summer trips to the lake.
A dog named Biscuit who once ate an entire birthday cake while we were singing to Rick in another room.
We didn’t have luxury.
But we had enough.
The problem was that Laura had spent her childhood promising herself “enough” would never be enough.
She grew up poor.
Her father left.
Her mother worked two jobs.
Once, she told me that as a girl, she used to stand outside the big houses on the north side at Christmas and stare through their windows.
She promised herself she would live in one someday.
I made decent money at the dealership.
Not wealthy.
But stable.
Our bills were paid.
We took vacations.
The boys had what they needed.
Laura wanted more.
