“If you’re so smart, then pay your own bills.”
My mom’s voice sliced through the tiny apartment like broken glass, sharp enough to draw blood. I was still in my work uniform, grease stains on my shirt, my feet aching with the specific, throbbing dullness that comes from a double shift at a diner. I hadn’t even taken my shoes off when she shoved a stack of overdue notices into my hands as if they were my fault for existing.
She didn’t ask how my day was. She didn’t ask if I’d eaten. She just stood there, eyes blazing, looking at me like I was the reason her life had fallen apart.
“I already paid the last two,” I muttered, staring at the red numbers screaming PAST DUE in bold font. “Mom, I just gave you my whole paycheck last Friday.”“Then pay the rest!” she scoffed, leaning in, almost spitting the words. “If you’re so educated, so independent, so grown up… prove it. Pay your own bills.”
