Not without explanation.
Not without pushing some of it back.
For the first time in years, I saw the child who used to come to me after breaking something and eventually tell the truth because holding the lie became harder.
I did not hug him.
Not yet.
Instead I asked, “What happens now?”
“We sell.”
“The business?”
“The house.”
“And the business?”
“I’m reducing staff.”
His voice tightened.
“I may close if I can’t turn it around by summer.”
“What about Thomas?”
“He’s not investing.”
“Because he found out?”
Michael shook his head.
“I told him.”
I looked at him.
“Everything?”
“Enough.”
“That I was paying the mortgage?”
“Yes.”
I waited.
Michael gave a tired smile.
“He told me if my business needed my retired mother to subsidize my household so I could keep putting money into the company, then he wasn’t looking at a stable investment.”
I winced.
“That sounds painful.”
“It was accurate.”
I almost reached for him.
Then he said, “I’m sorry.”
I looked at him.
“For Christmas?”
“For a lot of things.”
His voice broke slightly.
“For turning you into the part of my budget I didn’t have to respect.”
That one reached me.
I sat beside him.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
“When did I get like this?”
