“Which you never actually paid,” I reminded her. “The mortgage is paid off. The utilities come out of my retirement fund. Where exactly was David’s money going, Sarah?”
She bristled, the fragile act dropping instantly.
“We are saving for our future. You have more than enough. It’s incredibly selfish of you to hoard resources when your own son is trying to build a life.”
I looked at her. Truly looked at her.
The sheer audacity was breathtaking.
“My resources are exactly that: mine,” I stated firmly. “I worked for 40 years as an accountant. My husband worked on the railroad. We built this life. You do not get to walk in and demand the fruits of our labor because you find working for your own too difficult.”
I picked up my watering can.
“Sunday dinner is at 6. I suggest you both be on time.”
I walked inside, leaving her fuming on the porch.
The real estate agent was coming at noon while they were out, and I had a house to stage.
Sunday arrived with a heavy, stifling atmosphere.
Sarah’s parents, Richard and Linda, pulled into the driveway at exactly 5:45 p.m.
From the moment they walked in, Sarah took over. She greeted them at the door, took their coats, and ushered them into the dining room like she owned the place.
I stayed in the kitchen quietly plating the roast chicken and roasted vegetables I had prepared.
“Teresa, the house looks lived in,” Linda commented smoothly as she took her seat.
She was a woman who spoke entirely in backhanded compliments.
“It’s a home, Linda. People live here,” I replied, setting the serving platter in the center of the table.
David poured the wine, avoiding my eyes.
Sarah sat at the opposite end of the table, smiling brightly.
“We’re just so glad you could make it. Mom and dad, David and I have some exciting things to discuss tonight.”
I took my seat, placing my napkin in my lap.
I knew exactly what this was.
This was the ambush.
Halfway through the meal, David cleared his throat. He set his fork down, a serious expression crossing his face.
“So, everyone, Sarah and I wanted to talk about the future.”
Richard nodded encouragingly.
“Go ahead, son.”
“Mom.” David turned to me, using a patronizing tone that made my skin crawl. “Sarah and I have been talking. You’re getting older. Managing this big house all by yourself. It’s too much for you.”
