Mia wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, the afternoon sun still beating down even though it was almost evening. She juggled two heavy grocery bags on one hip while her four-year-old son Leo tugged impatiently at her free hand, his little fingers sticky from the candy she’d let him have in the store.
“Mommy, juice! I want juice now,” Leo whined, bouncing on his toes.
“Hold on, baby. Mommy’s trying to get the door open,” Mia said softly, her voice tired but patient. The keys slipped in her sweaty fingers as she fumbled with the lock to their new apartment. It was cheap, a little rundown with peeling paint on the walls and creaky floors, but it was home now after the messy divorce. No more fighting, no more walking on eggshells. Just her and Leo, starting over. She
