he said.
“That Morrison Group recommendation was perfect. They’re delivering quality work ahead of deadline.”
“Glad it worked out.”
“There’s something else. Robert’s firm reached out again, offering to undercut Morrison’s pricing on the phase-two expansion. Significantly undercut, almost suspiciously low.”
“Desperation move,”
I said.
“That’s what I figured. Just wanted to run it by you.”
“The answer is still no.”
“Understood.”
My father declared bankruptcy in August. The business that had been in our family for two generations closed its doors. My parents’ house went up for sale. They’d be moving to a smaller place, downsizing dramatically. The country club membership was gone. The luxury cars, the designer clothes, my mother’s jewelry collection sold piece by piece. Valerie called me from a number I didn’t recognize, getting through my blocks.
“Are you happy now?”
she screamed when I answered.
“Mom and dad have lost everything. Everything. And for what? Because we didn’t buy your kids presents?”
“No,”
I said calmly.
“Because you called them little illegitimates. Because Mom said they weren’t important enough. Because Dad sat there and let it happen. Because all of you treated two innocent children like they were garbage on Christmas.”
“They’re fine. Kids are resilient.”
“They are resilient because I taught them to be. Because I showed them that their worth isn’t determined by people who don’t value them. And I showed them something else. That there are consequences when you treat people as disposable.”
“You’re vindictive and petty.”
“I’m protective. There is a difference.”
She hung up on me. I didn’t hear from any of them again for months.
September brought a surprise. My doorbell rang on a Saturday morning. I opened it to find my mother standing there alone. She looked different. Older, yes, but also somehow lighter. She wore jeans and a plain sweater. No jewelry. No expensive handbag.
“I’m not here to ask for anything,”
she said immediately.
“I just wanted to see if you’d let me say something. If not, I’ll leave and never bother you again.”
I considered. Emma and Lily were at a friend’s birthday party.
“Five minutes.”
We sat on my porch. She didn’t come inside.
“I’ve lost almost everything,”
she started.
“The house, the lifestyle, the friends who only cared about what we could provide. Your father and I are living in a two-bedroom apartment now. He’s working as a project consultant for Morrison Group, ironically enough. Took a massive pay cut.”
“I know. I keep track.”
“Of course you do.”
