“Sell the house if you want. Keep 100% of the money. I don’t want a dime. I already paid my share. I paid with my life.”
He turned his back on me and walked into Mom’s old room, closing the door to take his first real nap in years.
I was left alone in that silent kitchen. I looked at my Swiss watch. I looked at my Italian leather shoes.
Suddenly, it all looked like garbage.
I was the economic provider, yes. But he was the son. I paid for the pills, but he put them in her mouth. I paid for the casket, but he held her hand until her last breath rattled out of her chest.
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