They were gone Friday before the deadline, the truck backing slowly off the lawn. At the door, Tessa stood with Poppy asleep on her shoulder and said she was ashamed, not of the listing, but of how easy it had been.
I did not rescue her from it. I said I loved her, that I would not be sending money again, and that both things could be true. Mom sat at the table and cried the way people do when something finally lets go. Then we cleaned together, scraping mud from the entryway and brushing dog hair from the recliner.
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