“That was for Brenda.”
I stared at her.
“You tried to put my house at risk for Brenda?”
“She needed help.”
“So did I.”
My voice cracked.
“I was lying in a hospital bed after giving birth to your granddaughter, and you were buying four phones.”
Mom looked down.
“I thought you would understand.”
I almost laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because after all those years, she still believed my understanding was something she was entitled to.
“You never asked me to understand,” I said.
“You just expected me to pay.”
The room became silent again.
Then my mother whispered something I had never heard from her before.
“I was afraid.”
I looked at her.
“Afraid of what?”
“That Brenda would hate me.”
That answer hurt more than the lies.
