“You tell her to take that post down this minute,” he barked, keys jingling loudly in the background.

“I’m working sixty hours a week trying to build something for this family, and you’re turning my own mother against me.”

For three long years, I’d have spent twenty minutes on a call like that begging him to understand our grocery bills, trying to explain why Sadie deserved a dress, or defending myself against his bitter accusations.

I leaned back against the gray seat cushion and rubbed my thumb along the side of my index finger, watching the white lines slide under the hood.

“I don’t have anything else to say to you, Rory,” I said softly.