Showed Up On Christmas, But My Son Said, “Sorry, I Think You’re At The Wrong House.” Stunned, I Left. Minutes Later, He Called: “Relax, Mom. We Just Want Some Peace.” I Said, “I Understand.” But He Forgot To Hang Up: “She Thinks That Help She Sends Every Month Means She Gets A Say.” I Paused The Monthly Help.

He sighed, the sound grading against my ear. “Mom, I can’t do this right now. “Just give us some space, okay?

“We’ll figure it out later.”

“I don’t understand,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “What did I do?”

“Nothing. It’s not— Look, I’ve got to go.

Dinner’s almost ready. “Mark, relax, Mom. We just want some peace.”

I took a deep breath, my entire body shaking.

“I understand.”

I was about to hang up when I heard it. Mark’s voice, slightly muffled, as if he’d pulled the phone away from his face, but hadn’t yet disconnected. “She thinks that money she sends every month buys her a seat at the table.”

The phone slipped from my hand, landing with a soft thud in the snow at my feet.

I stared at it for a long moment before slowly bending to retrieve it. The call was still active. I ended it with a trembling finger.

She thinks that money she sends every month buys her a seat at the table. The words echoed in my head as I made my way back to the main road, dragging my suitcase through the snow. They echoed as I hailed a taxi.

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