Barbara changed too.
She still saw Eric, but stopped paying surprise bills or solving problems he created.
Months later, Barbara sat at my kitchen table while Chloe slept nearby.
When he complained, she listened without rescuing him.
“It’s incredibly unpleasant,” she told me
once. “Apparently parenting still counts at age sixty-two.”
“Apparently.”
Months later, Barbara sat at my kitchen table while Chloe slept nearby.
My apartment was tiny and cluttered, but every bill was mine, every decision was mine, and no one could
