“For Thomas and Diana’s?”
Jennifer’s face tightened.
“Yes.”
I nodded.
“Have a nice time.”
Something about my lack of argument unsettled her.
Good.
I kissed the children.
At the door, Michael followed me outside.
“Mom.”
I turned.
His shoulders dropped.
“We paid the mortgage.”
“I’m glad.”
“I had to move money from the business.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
I looked at him.
“I’m sorry it was stressful. I am not sorry I stopped paying it.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets.
“That money was for payroll.”
I stared.
“Then you should not have used it.”
“What choice did I have?”
“You keep asking me that as though every choice eventually leads back to my bank account.”
His jaw tightened.
“You don’t understand what it costs to run a business.”
“You’re right.”
He looked surprised.
“I don’t.”
I adjusted my scarf.
“But I understand what it costs to work sixty hours a week until your feet swell inside nursing shoes.”
His face changed.
I continued.
“I understand what it costs to retire later because you kept withdrawing money you thought you could replace.”
“Mom.”
“I am not saying this to make you guilty.”
“Then why?”
“Because facts are not guilt.”
He looked away.
