Suddenly, my parents wanted a family meeting.
I refused to meet at their house.
Instead, we met at a diner halfway between Boston and their town. I brought a folder with me. Not because I wanted a fight, but because I had learned that in my family, memories changed whenever money became involved.
Mom looked exhausted. Dad looked angry. Tyler looked inconvenienced.
Dad spoke first.
“We need you to resume the payments temporarily.”
“No.”
Mom reached across the table. “Please, Claire. We could lose the house.”
“You should sell it.”
All three of them stared at me.
Tyler said, “That’s our childhood home.”
I looked at him. “Then help pay for it.”
He looked away immediately.
Dad’s jaw tightened.
“You know I’m trying to find work.”
“You rejected four jobs because they were ‘beneath you.’”
Mom whispered, “That’s not fair.”
I opened the folder and slid copies of the bills across the table.
“What’s not fair is expecting me to pay $3,800 every month while being treated like an embarrassment.”
Dad stared down at the paperwork.
For the first time, he saw the full total.
Not one emergency.
