Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407
The screen door slammed shut, and I heard the familiar thud of Ronnie’s sneakers hitting the worn wooden floor. “Mama Cory, we’re back!” he yelled, his voice echoing through the small house. His sister, bless her heart, trailed behind him, her face a picture of quiet contemplation.
Last Sunday was supposed to be a good one. I’d given my son Ronnie and his sister the donation money for church, a whole twenty dollars, carefully saved from my meager earnings at the diner. Church donations weren’t compulsory, but I liked to give what I could to help with church expenses. It was my way of contributing to the community, teaching Ronnie and his sister to be charitable human beings.
