I slept badly that night, but not because I was upset.
I was alert.
There is a sharpness that comes after humiliation when humiliation no longer has any power to shrink you. It clarifies. It strips away fantasy. By midnight I was standing barefoot in my living room, looking out over the city from the top floor apartment my family assumed I could never afford, and seeing every piece exactly as it was.
My place occupied the entire upper level of a restored prewar building downtown. Brick, steel, dark walnut, long windows open to the skyline. No flashy art, no sterile mansion emptiness, just space built for a man who liked quiet and had finally earned enough of it to choose it.
