There it was again.
Flexible.
“Mom, I didn’t agree to—”
“We’ll talk about this later.”
She hung up.
I stared at my phone, anger and disbelief fighting for dominance. This wasn’t borrowing anymore. This was theft with a smile.
I called Madison directly the next day.
“Mads, I need to talk about the car.”
“What about it?”
She sounded distracted. Ethan was crying somewhere in the background.
“It’s been two weeks. I need it back.”
Silence.
Then: “Mom said I could use it. I thought you were okay with it.”
“No one asked me if I was okay with it.”
“Well…”
She paused.
“I mean, you don’t really need it, right? You work from home.”
I gripped my phone so hard I thought the screen might crack.
“Madison, that’s not the point. It’s mine. I should have been asked.”
“Look, Arya, I have a three-year-old. Do you know how hard it is to get him to daycare, to doctor’s appointments, to—”
“I know your life is hard. That doesn’t mean you can take my things.”
“I’m not taking anything.”
Her voice turned sharp.
“You’re being dramatic. It’s just a car.”
“Then give it back.”
More silence.
Then, “Mom said we could work it out at Grandma’s party. We’ll talk then, okay?”
She hung up before I could respond.
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