Melissa’s face turned crimson.
“We house you, feed you, include you in our family, and the one time I ask you to contribute, you suddenly act like we’re robbing you?”
One time.
I looked at her expensive handbag.
The new diamond studs in her ears.
The manicured nails.
Then at my own hands.
Hands that had scrubbed her floors.
Buttoned her son’s school shirts.
Cooked hundreds of meals.
Written hundreds of checks.
I opened my faded brown wallet.
Melissa relaxed.
For half a second, she thought she had won.
Instead, I removed my bank card, looked at it, and slid it back inside.
Then I snapped the wallet shut.
“No.”
The click sounded surprisingly loud.
Melissa stared.
“Mom.”
I turned toward the exit.
Her voice rose behind me.
