“Okay.”
She was waiting for a fight. Instead, I packed two suitcases, my work laptop, and the folder that held every household bill. My friend Rachel had offered me her spare bedroom months before. I called her and left that same night.
Before I walked out, Owen wrapped his arms around me and whispered, “Who will remember my medicine?”
I promised him I would keep checking in.
Mom crossed her arms at the front door. “You’ll be back when you realize how expensive the real world is.”
Seven days later, she called me twenty-three times.
The electricity had been disconnected. The mortgage payment had failed. Owen had missed an appointment with his neurologist, and no one had submitted his prescription refill. Tyler’s truck had been repossessed because the payment he claimed he made himself had actually been coming from my account.
Then Mom left a voicemail.