DENISE

“Why haven’t you been picking my calls, William?” 

It’s been two weeks. Two weeks since I’d been chased out of my parents’ house. 

Two weeks of hell — I’d lodged in the cheapest motel for for just three days which was my money’s worth, the other eleven days had been spent on the streets, sleeping wherever the night met me. 

As for food. That was a luxury I could barely afford. I had to eat remnants from trash cans or beg for loose change to survive. It’s been terrible. 

I had gone to Williams’ house, but was always told he wasn’t home, which I think was a lie. 

On...