Chapter 3

3: 3

3

I laughed to myself, cold and quiet, but I didn't tear through that thin sheet of paper over the truth.

Some things, once said plainly, aren't worth saying.

"Bottom line, no means no."

My son laid it down like a verdict, that arrogance that left no room for argument.

"Mom, can you just knock it off? Work all day is stressful enough. Don't make trouble for us at night on top of it."

I looked at that face of his, stamped with impatience and entitlement, and something in me went bleak.

"I've said everything I needed to say."

I stopped looking at them and turned toward my little room.

"I'm leaving tomorrow."

Behind me came my son's furious voice. "You just have to do this, don't you? Fine! Go! And once you're gone, don't come back!"

Lily seemed to be talking him down, her voice low, but the tone of it, no matter how you heard it, sounded like she was pouring gas on the fire.

"Come on, stop yelling at Mom. She's probably just in a mood. She'll be fine tomorrow once she cools off."

"People get old, their tempers turn odd. It's normal."

I didn't turn around, and I didn't answer.

I walked into the little room that had held me for three years and pulled the door quietly shut behind me.

The walls were thin. I could still faintly hear the TV outside, my son still grumbling with anger, and Lily's soft, breathy "comfort."

The room was small, its window facing the narrow gap between buildings, so the light was always poor.

It felt more like a temporary work shed than a home.

Late that night, my phone buzzed and wouldn't stop.

I opened the app and saw the messages in the "Loving Family" group chat had already piled up past 99+.

My son had posted a long message, telling the whole story with real feeling about how I was "throwing a fit" and demanding to move out.

He made himself sound wronged, every line hinting that I, his own mother, didn't know when I was well off.

"My mom wants to move out over one little thing, and no matter how we plead with her, she won't listen."

"She was sneaking my son's formula during the day. I said a couple of words about it, and I never expected her to hold such a grudge."

The group chat blew up at once.

Uncle Walt was the first to jump in and tag me.

"Julia, do you have any idea how much pressure the boy's under right now? Can't you show a little understanding, at your age?"

"You're this old, and your temper still hasn't mellowed one bit?"

A cousin posted a helpless little face.

"Aunt Julia, it really isn't easy for young people these days. Help out where you can."

Then someone brought up the formula.

"Baby formula's so expensive, and your mom actually snuck it to drink? That is a bit much."

Sharper words came right after.

The sister-in-law who'd never gotten along with me said, all snide and singsong, "Some people just don't know when they're well off. Living in their son's house, eating and drinking their fill, and still acting up all day long."

"One of these days you'll push your son too far, he'll cut ties, and then you won't even have tears left to cry!"

I watched it in silence, my finger sliding across the cold screen.

Every word went in like a needle.

Seeing the whole crowd take his side, my son grew smugger.

He started inventing more crimes out of nothing.

"Mom's lived with me for three years, and we've never once shortchanged her."

"We never charged her rent or food, and on top of that we gave her spending money every month."

"Last time she said she wanted new clothes, Lily took her to the mall right away and bought her several pieces, and she turned around and said she didn't like them."

"Now she says she wants to move out. Isn't that just because she thinks the money we give her is too little?"

Looking at these words that turned black into white, I felt the pressure build in my chest.

Spending money?

In three years they hadn't given me a single cent. It was me, every month, propping up the household out of my own pension.

New clothes?

That was last summer, when Lily forced a marked-down, out-of-season sweater on me, tags still attached.

I said the weather was too hot to use it, and she rolled her eyes right at me.

The chatter in the group turned uglier and uglier.

"Are old folks this hard to please these days?"

"If you ask me, she's just spoiled."

"Living in her son's house, she ought to count herself lucky. Why does she have to stir up trouble?"

My son posted one last line. "If my mom insists on being this stubborn, then I may really have to consider cutting all ties with her, mother and son."

"I can't let someone this unreasonable, this bent on digging her own hole, wreck the peace of my family."