“That’s my girl.”
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I can still remember how wonderful those words felt.
It was the first time I could recall hearing her say them with genuine pride.
And although I didn’t understand it then, I spent the next twenty years trying to hear them again.
At sixteen, I began working at a pizza restaurant.
By eighteen, I was juggling two jobs while attending community college in the evenings.
There wasn’t enough money for me to attend a four-year university.
At least, that was what my parents told me.
Camille had gone to Ohio State.
Mom and Dad had taken out a second mortgage to help cover her education.
“Camille has a real future in business,” Mom explained. “You’re more practical, Olivia. You know how to manage with less.”
I nodded.
I always nodded.
At twenty-two, I found a full-time position with a regional logistics company.
