“This resort is for successful people,” Mom said. My sister added, “Not warehouse workers.” I stayed quiet. Moments later, the general manager approached me: “Ms. Williams, we need your approval for your family’s reservation today.”

The transmission in my worn, seven-year-old Honda Civic gave off a miserable little whine as I eased into the visitor parking area at Azure Heights Resort.
Even from across the lot, I immediately recognized my mother’s black Mercedes and my older sister’s white BMW.

Both were parked proudly in the VIP valet section, gleaming under the sharp mountain sunlight like trophies.