My mother sank heavily onto the edge of the striped floral sofa, her knees stiff.

“You took on an obligation to this household when your father died,” she said.

I pulled a second document out of my coat pocket and laid it flat on the glass coffee table between us.

“This is a formal notice of dismissal for your twelve-thousand-dollar small claims suit,” I said.

My mother looked down at the bright blue notary stamp still drying in the bottom corner of the page.

“If you sign this voluntary withdrawal before five o’clock this afternoon, I won’t show my notarized bank ledgers to the small claims judge,” I said.