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The alarm jarred Song Jackson out of a deep sleep. She hit her alarm clock with force, knocking a stack of bills to the unfinished hardwood floor. She swung her legs from her bed, her feet sliding into the awaiting slippers before she stretched her long lean muscles. She reached for her square-framed glasses, bent to her knees to reorder the bills by the due date, wrapped them in a rubber band and laid them on her nightstand.

She pulled her white cotton sheets tightly around the bed, tucking and folding them as her mother had taught her. Hospital corners. Pulling the worn gray comforter up, she fluffed her pillows.

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