I honestly thought that was the definition of love.
I think love, when devoid of boundaries, eventually mutates into something dark and resentful. It stops looking like affection and starts looking like unpaid, indentured servitude.
My refusal to fix Mom’s furnace that night wasn’t an act of calculated revenge. I didn’t sabotage the circuit board. I didn’t sever the gas line.
What changed was significantly simpler, yet more powerful.
And when my mother so reminded me that it was, undeniably, her house… she was correct.
It was her sanctuary. Which meant,, it possessed the right to become her utility bill, too.
Because if the childrenI love are not deemed worthy to sit at your dining table, you should probably not expect their father to continue subsidizing the climate control in the room.
