My Mother Screamed That I Had an Iceberg Where My Soul Should Be and Slammed the Door Hard Enough to Rattle the Photos — I Stood There Waiting for the Guilt That Always Came, and for the First Time in Thirty-Two Years, It Never Did

“Fine,” she snapped, and clapped her hands together with a sharp violent crack that made Iris flinch all over again.

“Fine.

Keep your precious money.

See if I care.

But don’t you dare come crawling back when Reid deploys and you’re stranded here alone with a baby you clearly can’t handle.

Don’t call me when you finally understand what a cold, lonely life you’ve built for yourself.”

She spun on her heel, her coat whipping through the air, and marched for the door — and still, even now, on her way out, she did not glance at the granddaughter she had come a thousand miles of pretense to use as leverage.

No touch.