Iris Held On to Her Paid-Off Title When Her Father Threatened to Call the Police

I closed my laptop and watched the bright screen go black in the quiet room.

Three days later, at ten in the morning, Eleanor called while I was organizing structural load calculations for David.

Her voice came through the phone speaker clear and soft, without any of the usual background noise from the Portland kitchen.

“Iris, sweetie,” she said.

“I’ve been worried about you every single hour since you drove away.”

I laid my blue drafting pen flat along the margin of my engineering notebook.

“I’m fine, Mom,” I said.