Signing the papers, her stomach sank. She should’ve felt triumph, but instead she felt dread. What if it gave her only endless trouble? What if she’d just wasted money she couldn’t spare? She touched the window of the car, stared at the cracked dash, and whispered, “God, what have I done?”
The smell inside was what she expected: old upholstery, dust, something metallic, and perhaps a faint trace of something else that she couldn’t place—it was an old car after all. The seats were cracked, the radio was missing, and the odometer showed over two hundred thousand miles. But she wanted to believe it had potential.