Her lunches grew longer, and she started billing them to the company.
Whenever I questioned her, Greg stepped in.
“Mom, you hired her to modernize things.”
I hadn’t.
But somehow, that became the accepted version.
Then there was the SUV.
Sarah said her old car was too unreliable for commuting.
Greg asked whether I could help them finance a newer vehicle.
I agreed under one condition.
Because my credit was better, the loan would remain in my name, but Greg would make every payment.
He made two.
Then he stopped.
Month after month, I silently covered the loan.
Then the insurance.
Then the registration.
Meanwhile, they paid no rent.
They used my grocery card.
My utilities.
My money.
Everything was supposedly temporary.
By the night of that Sunday dinner, I had spent three years mistaking surrender for love.
Sitting alone at my desk later, I finally stopped.
Their laughter drifted up from downstairs.
