review.
I agreed.
But three days later, Mom called.
I hadn't heard her voice in weeks.
"Millie, honey, can we please talk?"
I almost hung up.
Instead, I asked one question.
"Did Vanessa know about the savings account?"
Silence.
Then Mom whispered, "How did you find out?"
I closed my eyes.
That was answer enough.
"You told me the mortgage was overdue."
"Sometimes it was."
"You told me the electricity was going to be shut off."
"We had difficult months."
"Then why was so much of the money going into an account for Vanessa?"
Mom's voice hardened.
"Your sister needed help getting established."
I stared at the wall.
"She needed a house?"
"She deserved some security."
"And I didn't?"
"Millie, you already own your condo."
I laughed.
It wasn't a happy sound.
It was the sound of something finally breaking.
"You used my fear of losing you to take money from me."
"That's a terrible thing to say to your mother."
"Is it false?"
She didn't answer.
I remembered the first time I had received a bonus.
I'd planned to replace my car.
Mom had called crying about Dad's finances.
I gave her the money instead.
I remembered skipping a friend's wedding in California because I'd sent Mom my travel savings.
I remembered countless small sacrifices that had never seemed important enough to mention.
