The hum of the city fades when I close my eyes. All that remains is the faint echo of my mother’s voice… soft, tired, always humming something to keep herself awake.

I remember the smell of detergent clinging to her hands, the scrape of coins as she counted tips on our chipped kitchen table, the way she’d smile at me like I was her reason for breathing even when her eyes looked like they’d forgotten what rest felt like.

We lived in a one-room apartment back then, barely enough space for ...