It was supposed to be a good day—the kind that makes you feel proud of yourself.
The sun was streaming through the blinds of our modest apartment in Austin, Texas, and for once, I felt that life had finally settled into something resembling peace.
I had a stable job as a financial assistant, earning $4,000 a month. My husband, Daniel, worked construction jobs that came and went with the seasons. Together, we managed fine. We weren’t rich, but our little world felt secure—warm, and ours.
