She was pricing her wedding ring at a folding table when the laughter started.
It was a Saturday morning yard sale in a quiet Ohio suburb. Sunlight spilled across cracked driveways. Neighbors drifted from house to house holding coffee cups and curiosity.
On the edge of the street, beneath a faded blue canopy, sat Amanda Reeves, thirty-four, single mother, eyes red from lack of sleep. Her front lawn looked like a life turned inside out.
Baby crib.
Microwave.
Bookshelves.
A framed wedding photo turned face down.
Everything had small white price stickers on it.
Because everything now had to become rent money.
