Jenna hadn’t had it easy. Not a lot of folks had been on her side, at least from her point of view. Her kids, her sisters, her nieces and nephews, all they did was take, take, take from the one person in their lives who was willing to put in the long hard hours to make ends meet, even if it was a 40-hour week of being alternately ignored or sneered at by out-of-towners in Wal-Mart.

She bore it all without too much complaining. There was always her car, a Pontiac-shaped sanctuary, with a sound system that worked great even if the AC didn’t. And that car was the source of her one indulgence.

At work, Jenna always parked in the side lot, near the bus stop, and took up two parking spaces–one in front, one behind. That meant no one in front of her, no one behind her, and an easy out when her shift ended at 11pm. She got dirty looks doing it, and more than one flipped bird from someone who wanted one of the spots. Mr. Bonesteel, the assistant manager, had even asked her to move it.

It was the only time she’d ever told him no.

That car, that parking space, was the only slice of anything Jenna regularly took for herself. And she wasn’t going to give that up for anything.

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