“I know that too.”
“I’m sixty-one years old.”
“And?”
Her voice cracked.
“I cannot believe you would let me struggle when you have all of this.”
She gestured past the gate.
The house.
The office.
The equipment building.
The land.
All of this.
For years, my family had seen the same equation.
I had more.
Therefore they were entitled to the difference.
“I didn’t get this because somebody gave me their spare room,” I said.
Mom shook her head.
“Must we go back to that every single time?”
“You brought it up when you reminded me I knew what homelessness felt like.”
“I was trying to make you understand Lauren’s situation.”
“I understood it perfectly.”
She stared at me.
Then, for the first time, said:
“I made mistakes when you girls were young.”
It was the closest thing to an apology I had ever heard.
I waited.
