The next week, she did. It was not the same, but everyone ate it and complimented her.
No one mentioned mine.
In September, Michael called.
“Mom, my car broke down. The transmission’s gone. The mechanic says it’ll cost $5,000 to fix. I don’t have it right now.”
I hesitated. “Michael, you just got married. Didn’t you and Brooke save—”
“Mom, please,” he said. “I can’t get to work without a car.”
I wrote the check that afternoon.
In December, he called again.
“Mom, there’s a business development conference in Denver next month. It could be huge for my career, but the registration and hotel are $8,000 and we just don’t have it.”
“Michael, that’s a lot of money.”
“I know, Mom. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”
I heard Brooke’s voice in the background, faint but clear: “Tell her it’s an investment in your future.”
I wrote the check.
By the end of 2022, I had given Michael and Brooke $33,000—the wedding gift, the car repair, the conference, and smaller loans for groceries, for gas, for “emergencies” that were never fully explained.
None of it was repaid.
I kept a small notebook in my kitchen drawer, writing down each amount, each date. The pages filled quickly.
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