“What does it feel like to be completely useless?”…

“We’re a little behind. Just one month. Iris had some inventory issues at the boutique, and the bank is starting to send letters.

You know, the ones with the bold, red print.”

The kind that makes your heart sink. I knew them well from another lifetime, when his father and I had scraped by on teacher salaries, counting every dollar twice. Without a moment’s hesitation, I told him, “Don’t worry about it.

I’ll take care of it.”

“Mom, I didn’t call to—”

“I know,” I said. “You’re telling me what’s going on. That’s what you’re supposed to do.

Text me the account details. I’ll wire it tonight.”

“Four thousand two hundred,” he muttered. The number sounded like it physically hurt him to say.