Officer Ruiz glanced at me. “Ma’am, does she live here?”
“No. She does not. She has never lived here. I own this house. My name is on the mortgage, the deed, the utilities, everything.”
Mom stepped forward, voice trembling in that practiced way she used at funerals and family reunions. “I have clothes here. She promised I could stay whenever I needed. Now she’s punishing me over a child’s birthday party.”
Ethan appeared at the top of the stairs. “Mom?”
I turned quickly. “Go back to your room, sweetheart.”
But he had already seen his grandmother.
One week earlier, I had rented the back room of Giovanni’s Pizza for Ethan’s tenth birthday. I ordered blue balloons, a chocolate cake, and twenty-four cupcakes. I invited my mother, my sister Vanessa, my brother Paul, their spouses, and every cousin Ethan knew by name. Nobody came.
Not late.
Not apologizing.
Not at all.
