She tilted her head, smirking. “You’re Linda’s son. I was the one here. You barely showed up.”
I couldn’t speak. She shut the door, leaving me on the porch with my life boxed and abandoned. No car. No plan. Just shame.
There was only one person I could call.
My mother picked up on the second ring. “James? What’s wrong?”
“She threw me out,” I said, voice cracking.
Her tone sharpened. “Don’t touch anything. I’m coming. There’s something your father asked me to keep quiet — something you need to see.”
Three hours later, her old Honda pulled into the driveway. She stepped out different — steady, fierce. She hugged me tight, then handed me an envelope.
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