If my daughter thought I had no place, then I would make a place. Not just for me, but for others like me.

I made a choice. One that no one saw coming.

I suppose I should tell you how it all began. My daughter, Leona, was my only child. Her father left us when she was still in diapers, and from then on, it was just the two of us. I worked two, sometimes three jobs—cleaning houses during the day, cashiering at night, babysitting on weekends. Every cent I earned went to keeping her fed, clothed, and eventually, into her education.

I never went to college myself. My parents had been poor, and I had grown up learning the value of hard work, not textbooks. But I wanted something different for Leona. I wanted her to have the kind of life where she didn’t have to check her bank balance before buying groceries, where she could travel, explore, and chase dreams without constantly worrying about money.

So I sacrificed. I wore thrift store shoes until the soles nearly fell off, skipped meals so she could have enough, and said no to every small luxury for myself. I told myself it would all be worth it when I saw her succeed. And for a while, it seemed to pay off.