When I Had A Health Update, I Didn’t Tell My Daughter Or Her Husband That I’d Quietly Sold My Company For 8 Million Dollars.

My feet were bleeding inside the broken shoes. Hunger made me see black spots every time I moved my head too fast. But I kept going.

Because I needed to complete this test. I needed to know if all my children were the same or if there was any humanity left in any of them. Michael’s house was more modern than Jessica’s.

All glass and steel. Minimalist. Cold like him.

I rang the doorbell and waited. This time there was no delay. Michael opened the door almost immediately as if he had been expecting a delivery or something.

His expression when he saw me was genuine shock. “Mom,” he exclaimed, and for a second I thought maybe he would be different. “What happened to you?”

He seemed worried.

His eyes scanned my dirty clothes, my greasy hair, the torn bag I was carrying. He took a step toward me. And I thought he would hug me.

He didn’t. Instead, he looked quickly to both sides of the street. Just like Jessica.

The same concern for appearances. The same fear that someone would see them with me. “Come in quickly,” he said, ushering me inside, but closing the door immediately behind me as if he were hiding evidence of a crime.

I stayed in the foyer. He did not invite me further inside. I kept my distance as if my poverty were contagious.

“What happened?” he repeated. “Where have you been? Why didn’t you call?”

I told him the same story.

Continue reading…