The walkie-talkie slipped from my shaking hands and hit the floor.
I sat in the dark, staring at the wall between us. The wall I’d helped pay for. The wall they planned to cross by renting out my space.
My own son. The boy I raised alone. Fed. Clothed. Loved with all my heart. How could he?
The static stopped, and a cold silence filled my home like poison.
I didn’t sleep that night. Or the next. Every time I closed my eyes, I heard Sarah’s cruel laugh and Henry’s careless betrayal of my sacrifices.
How do you give so much to people and still mean nothing to them? How do they ignore your love and only see what they can take?
I scrubbed dishes until my hands hurt. I skipped meals to cover their short months. And this is what I was to them? A paycheck?
That’s when I knew. They wouldn’t stop unless I made them. And I was done staying quiet.
Saturday was my 60th birthday. I planned a small dinner.
Henry and Sarah arrived with a store-bought cake and fake smiles.
