The next payment was already scheduled. Beside it sat a small gray button: Cancel Recurring Transfer. My hand froze over the mouse. I felt cruel for even considering it. My mother had built her lifestyle around that money, and some frightened part of me still believed that if a parent needed something and I could provide it, I had no right to refuse.’

Then I heard her voice again: “My time isn’t free.” I clicked the button. A confirmation appeared. I clicked again, and the transfer was gone. I didn’t send an angry message or demand back the money I had already given her. I simply closed my laptop, locked the doors, and packed for my Chicago trip.

Before bed, I stopped outside Ethan’s room. He was asleep beneath his Avengers blanket, one little foot sticking out. I watch

ed him for a moment before walking away. For the first time in eight years, I had stopped financing my mother’s life. The first of the month was approaching, and Patricia had no idea the money would not arrive.