The Key in the Lock

Dear Delyara, I’m sitting on the floor of my new apartment. I don't have a sofa yet, or even a bed—just a sleeping bag and a box of takeout. But I have the key. Three years ago, I was sleeping in my car after the bankruptcy, wondering if I’d ever have a roof over my head again. I worked three jobs, I saved every penny, I wore shoes with holes in the soles, and I never let myself believe it was over. Tonight, I turned the key in my own door. The air in here smells like fresh paint and possibility. I did it. I built a life from the ashes, and tonight, I’m finally home.