Six Months Later
Erin and Joseph moved into a smaller place. Joseph found a new job—not as prestigious, not as high-paying, but steady.
They started living within their means.
Erin called me on my birthday. Not a text. A call.
“Happy birthday, Mom,” she said. “I’d like to take you to dinner. My treat. No occasion. Just… because.”
We went to a small Italian place. We talked. Really talked.
About her childhood. About the sacrifices I’d made. About the resentment she’d carried—feeling like she had to live up to Joseph’s family, like she wasn’t enough.
“I thought if I could just fit in with them,” she said, “everything would be perfect.”
“And?” I asked.
“It wasn’t,” she said. “It was exhausting. I lost myself trying to be what they wanted.”
“I know the feeling,” I said.
She looked at me. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
“I know,” I said.
We’re rebuilding. Slowly.
She doesn’t ask for money anymore. When she needs advice, she calls. When she’s struggling, she talks to me. Like a daughter talks to a mother.
Not like a debtor talks to a bank.
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For complete cooking times, go to the next page or click the Open button (>), and don't forget to SHARE with your Facebook friends.
