Chapter 16 - What She Called Love
“You told the tenants I was dead.”
Mom said nothing.
“You stole rent for eight years.”
“I managed the property.”
“You hid an inheritance.”
“You didn’t need the money.”
I laughed.
That sentence was so insane it came out like a cough.
“You decided that?”
“You were doing well.”
“And Melanie?”
“What about her?”
“You paid for her apartment. Her engagement. Her wedding deposit. With money from me.”
“She needed help.”
“So did I.”
“When?”
The question stopped me.
Not because I had no answer.
Because I had hundreds.
When I worked two jobs.
When I ate ramen for a month after Dad’s surgery because I had sent home half my paycheck.
When I slept in my car one night after an apartment fell through and told nobody because Mom was already “overwhelmed.”
I said, “You never asked.”
Mom’s tone softened.
“Aaron, mothers make choices.”
“No. You made transactions.”
“That’s cruel.”
“No. Cruel was telling tenants I was dead because it made theft easier.”
She inhaled sharply.
Then she said the sentence I had heard in different forms my whole life.
“After everything I sacrificed for you.”
I looked at Grandma’s letter.
“What did you sacrifice?”
She started listing food, clothes, school supplies.
The cost of raising a child.
As if I had been born owing her reimbursement.
I cut in.
“You mean parenting?”
She went silent.
I continued.
“Greg will contact you about the duplex. From now on, rent goes into a neutral account until ownership is sorted out.”
“You’re taking my income.”
“I’m taking my half.”
“That money pays our bills.”
“Then adjust your life.”
Her breathing sharpened.
“You sound just like your grandmother.”
For the first time, I heard it as a compliment.
Then she said, “If you keep doing this, your father will leave me.”
I paused.
“Why?”
“He’s blaming me.”
“What did he say?”
“He said he’s done lying for me.”
My stomach tightened.
Then, from somewhere near Mom, I heard a man’s voice.
Dad.
“Give me the phone.”
Mom hissed, “No.”
There was movement.
Then Dad came on.
“Aaron?”
“Yeah.”
His voice shook.
May you like
“I need to tell you what really happened with Grandma’s will.”
And suddenly, I knew Mom hadn’t acted alone.
