And there was a cashier’s check made out to Dwight Pruitt.

Eight thousand dollars.

The memo line said: “truck payment.”

My house was being gambled away one girls’ night at a time, and the man snoring in my recliner was getting paid out of my son’s mortgage money.

I phoned the Lafayette Parish Sheriff’s Office from the driveway.

After that, I called my mother-in-law, Gloria, in Tulsa.

She fell apart on the phone.

“She asked me for money two times this summer,” she said.