“Not close?” Martha asked, her voice trembling with rising anger.

“I raised that boy in a simple house where the metal roof leaked over our kitchen table every time it rained.

I worked double shifts at the local grocery store during the day and cleaned corporate offices at night after his father vanished.

I hand-stitched his sports uniforms when we could not afford new ones, and I sat by his bed through sickness and tough times.”

She took two steps closer to Valerie, her gaze locking onto her daughter-in-law’s eyes.