Sarah and David stood on my porch.
Sarah wore a camel coat and carried the structured leather handbag I had bought for her birthday two years earlier.
David stood beside her in a quarter-zip sweater, arms folded across his chest.
He looked irritated.
Sarah looked nervous.
I opened the door but stayed in the doorway.
“Mom,” she said immediately. “Why aren’t you answering your phone?”
I looked at her.
“You asked me not to contact you.”
“That’s not what this is about.”
“It’s exactly what this is about.”
David stepped closer but remained outside.
“Amber, we asked for emotional space. That doesn’t mean you suddenly pull financial commitments.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Commitments?”
“Yes.”
“What agreement did I sign?”
His expression tightened.
“You know what I mean.”
“I know I chose to help you.”
“You’ve been doing it for four years.”
“That doesn’t make it permanent.”
Sarah lowered her voice.
“Mom, the mortgage is due.”
“Then pay it.”
“We don’t have twelve hundred sitting around right now.”
I glanced at her handbag.
