No one came to my son’s surgery. Not my mother. Not my sister….

Jason’s office smelled of leather and printer ink. He folded his hands across his desk, delivering bad news with the practiced gentleness of someone trained to do so.

“Your mother and sister came in this morning,” he said. “They were… distressed.”

I nodded. “I imagine they were.”

“They claim there’s been a mistake, that you cut off funds without notice,” he continued.

I leaned back in my chair. “There was notice. For years.”