My mother got up so fast her chair screeched across the linoleum.

“You’re making a huge mistake, Rachel,” she said, yanking the soggy document out of her mug.

“You can’t afford to turn your back on this family.”

“Take your toys and your casserole with you,” I said, opening the back door to the yard.

“If you walk away now, you’re on your own,” my mother said, hitching her handbag onto her shoulder as her silver bangle rattled on her wrist.

“Don’t come crying to your father or me when the bills start stacking up.”