The post read: Now I finally understand—you're the only real family I'll ever have.
Below it, Muriel had left a comment dripping with sarcasm: Some people think they can financially abuse their own son, but all they're doing is pushing him further away.
Memo to certain people: we're strong, independent women now. Your little power trips don't work on us.
I couldn't even hear what Patricia was saying on the other end of the line anymore. Shaking with anger, I opened Dylan's chat.
His social media feed showed nothing.
I typed out a message and hit send. A red exclamation mark popped up beside it.
I stared at the screen. Then I laughed—the kind of laugh that came from being so furious there was nowhere left for the anger to go.
I spoke into the phone.
"If he thinks I'm such a terrible mother, then he doesn't get to spend another cent of my hard-earned money. He wants to call it financial abuse? Fine. Now it's real."
I hung up.
Strong independent woman. Then act like one. Stop bleeding me dry.
I had just finished changing the litter for my cat when the phone on the couch started buzzing like it had lost its mind.
I glanced at the caller ID and hit decline.
The ringing started right back up. Again. And again.
I answered, my voice flat. Dylan's voice poured through the speaker.
"Mom, Muriel and I are at the electronics store. She found this amazing TV—over three thousand bucks. It's incredible. You should come check it out."
I let out a cold laugh. "Come check it out? You mean come pay for it?"
"Dylan Lawson, let me make this crystal clear. I don't have the money, and even if I did, I wouldn't spend a dime."
Muriel's shrill voice cut in immediately.
"Who are you threatening? Dylan, are you just going to stand there while your mother tries to intimidate me?!"
Dylan's tone turned frantic.
"Mom! Stop making a scene. Just come buy the TV—it'll smooth things over between you two."
I scoffed. "I'm in my fifties, and you want me to grovel with my wallet?"
He must have been terrified I'd hang up, because his voice went stiff and serious.
"Muriel's trying to fix things between you two. She even wants to take you shopping for clothes at the mall. So quit being difficult and stop stirring up trouble."
That caught me off guard.
But then I thought about it. He was still my son. Maybe this was just his clumsy, roundabout way of making peace without losing face.
I could live with that.
I grabbed my coat and headed for the mall.
When I got there, Muriel was holding a cup of coffee that probably cost five bucks. She didn't greet me, didn't even glance my way. She just turned on her heel and walked into a women's clothing store.
I took a few deep breaths and followed her inside.
She drifted through the racks without interest, then looked me up and down.
"Where's your clearance section?" she asked the sales associate. "The cheapest stuff you've got."
I blinked, not quite processing it. Before I could say a word, Muriel turned to me with a saccharine smile.
"Don't overthink it. I just feel like someone your age shouldn't be wearing anything too nice."
"Especially given your... situation."
She pressed her hand over her mouth in mock concern.
"I'd hate for people to talk. You know—say you're trying too hard for your age."
The dig landed exactly where she meant it to. And my son? He strolled up with a grin plastered across his face.
"See, Mom? Muriel's really learning to think about other people's feelings. You two are going to get along great."
Muriel rolled her eyes at him, unimpressed, and followed the associate toward a pile of marked-down clothes in the back.
She spotted a plain white T-shirt on top of the heap, raised an eyebrow, and pinched it between two fingers.
"Wrap this up."
Dylan scrambled over to pay.
I glanced at the receipt. $2.99.
Then I looked at the size on the tag. There was no way it would fit me.
Before I could open my mouth, Dylan grabbed my arm and pulled me straight into the jewelry store next door.
