I had enjoyed caring for them; I still enjoyed it.

The problem wasn’t generosity.

The problem was a family system that treated my generosity as evidence that I had no needs of my own.

That evening I wrote Daniel a letter I did not immediately send.

I told him what I remembered about his childhood, what I appreciated about his devotion to the children, and what hurt about Christmas.

I wrote that helping him for fourteen years had been my choice, and that ending routine support was another choice I was entitled to make.

I wrote that I wanted to be invited because I was his mother, not because my account funded his mortgage.