Mom’s Face at the Door Told Me Everything
That same evening, I drove to her house in Redwood Springs, hoping there had been a misunderstanding.
The porch light flickered.
The wind rattled the bushes.
Everything felt like a warning I wasn’t ready to accept.
Mom opened the door with a scowl.
Her eyes looked like glass.
“I don’t want your money anymore,” she snapped.
“And I don’t want your superior attitude. Leave my house.”
I blinked, stunned.
“Mom… what did I do wrong?”
“You treat me like a burden,” she hissed. “You think a few payments give you the right to judge us.”
“You’re arrogant.”
I thought of the overtime shifts.
The canceled plans.
The vacations I never took.
The nights I cried in a bathroom stall at work and then went back out smiling.
She wasn’t done.
“Trevor is the only one I can rely on,” she added, chin lifted like she was proud of it.
“He never holds anything over my head. He has a heart. You don’t.”
Trevor.
The one who never helped.
Something in my chest twisted — not anger yet.
Devastation.
Then she delivered the final blow.
“Get your belongings from the guest room,” she said. “You’re done here. I want you gone by Saturday.”
I left with my thoughts spinning.
On the drive home, I tried to excuse her behavior.
Maybe she was overwhelmed.
Maybe Trevor poisoned her view.
Maybe she didn’t realize what she was doing.
I was still making excuses right up until moving day.
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