“From the sale of the house where your father and I lived for forty-two years, where we raised you, where we celebrated every one of your birthdays, where your father died in my bed holding my hand.”
My voice cracked.
“I sold my memories, Daniel. I sold the last piece of your father I had left, and I did it for you.”
Daniel started to cry.
Thick tears fell onto his hands.
“Mom, do you know how much you paid for the mortgage each month?”
“$480.”
“And do you know what the actual mortgage payment was?”
Silence.
“$1,400.”
“I paid the other $920 every month from my $1,600 pension.”
“Do you know what that means?”
He looked up, confused.
“It means that after paying my share of the house, I had $680 a month left for all my expenses. Clothes, medicine, transportation, anything personal. $680 while Emily was spending 300 on a single bottle of wine.”
