Chapter 11 - A Mother’s Terms
"Hi, Mom," Stephanie said softly, keeping her distance from the top step. She looked past me into the bright, warm foyer, catching the faint scent of roasted chicken and rosemary. "I... I hope we aren't interrupting."
I looked out at my daughter and my grandson, my expression remaining neutral, calm, and grounded.
"You aren't interrupting, Stephanie," I said evenly. "Though we are in the middle of dinner."
Mason stepped up onto the bottom stair, looking up at me with large, hesitant eyes. "Grandma? Can I... can I show you something?"
My heart softened just a fraction, though I didn't lose my footing. I stepped back and opened the door wider.
"Come inside, Mason. Wipe your feet."
The boy scrambled up the steps, clutching his drawing book tightly to his chest. He walked into the newly opened foyer, looking around in wonder at the bright walls and the absence of his mother's seasonal junk.
"I drew a house," Mason whispered, opening the sketchbook to a brightly colored page featuring a small cottage surrounded by flower beds and sunshine, with two stick figures standing on the porch. "It looks like your house now."
Stephanie stood in the doorway, tears shining in her eyes. She didn't try to push her way in, and she didn't demand anything.
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"We’re trying, Mom," Stephanie whispered, her voice cracking with raw vulnerability. "Clinton is working his second job at the warehouse every weekend. We sold our second car. We’re paying off our debts dollar by dollar. It’s hard... but we’re doing it honestly."
I looked at my daughter, seeing the heavy armor of entitlement completely stripped away, leaving behind the person she was always meant to be before comfort made her cruel.
