I expected tears.
None came.
I slept better than I had in weeks.
At six the next morning, thin gold sunlight slipped through the blinds.
The house felt different.
Not happier exactly.
Larger.
I made coffee, toasted an English muffin, and sat at the dining table with my laptop.
For the first time in years, I calculated what supporting Sarah and David had actually cost.
The total was ugly.
The $1,650 monthly transfer alone was $19,800 a year.
Over four years, nearly eighty thousand dollars.
And that excluded the family phone plan.
Streaming subscriptions.
The storage unit.
Leo’s preschool during one difficult year.
The refrigerator I bought them.
The credit-card balance I quietly cleared when David’s first business idea failed.
Dental expenses.
Roof repairs.
The expensive stroller Sarah called “an investment.”
Each expense had seemed reasonable alone.
Together, they described a second household I was partly supporting.
My pension was never large.
Most months, Sarah and David’s transfer consumed almost all of it.
I lived on Social Security and the modest investment income Michael left me.
I bought generic groceries.
Delayed repairs.
The guest-room window leaked cold air every winter because the contractor quoted $1,900, and whenever I considered fixing it, Sarah called with another emergency.
My winter coat was six years old.
The lining near one pocket had ripped.
I had sewn it twice.
