My mother walked straight into the formal living room and stood beside the mahogany side table.

The blue plastic three-ring binder I had bought at Target sat closed on her desk, surrounded by unpaid utility bills.

“You think you’ve accomplished something today,” my mother said, turning her back on the lace curtains.

“You cut off my monthly bank transfer and left me holding nine hundred forty dollars in past-due mortgage notices.”

“I paid that mortgage for three years because you made me think you were drowning,” I said.

“I paid eighty-two dollars toward your electric bill while you spent my money on shopping trips.”