It let me stay.

It let me be angry at her instead of him, which was easier, because I hadn’t married her.

Hearing her voice on his phone that morning, coaching him through the theft of my own savings, the comforting story came apart for good.

They were not a strong mother and a weak son.

They were partners, and had been the whole time, and I had been the third party at a table where the other two had long ago agreed on the menu.

He wasn’t a good man trapped by a difficult mother.