Chapter 8 - THE FINAL MUFFIN DELIVERY
My mother came to the cottage six months later.
She brought blueberry muffins.
I almost laughed when I saw the container.
Daniel was working in the garage, but he did not join us unless I asked.
My mother sat at the small kitchen table and looked around.
“This is where you chose to live after giving up that beautiful house?”
“We sold it.”
Her eyebrows rose.
“You let Daniel sell your home?”
“We sold a property we owned together.”
She disliked the correction.
“Jason is still struggling.”
“That is Jason’s responsibility.”
“He lost customers because he couldn’t reopen.”
“He announced my address as his business location before I signed anything.”
“He was desperate.”
“So was I when I worked double shifts to pay that mortgage. No one offered me someone else’s house.”
She unfolded and refolded a paper napkin.
“We made a mistake.”
“You arrived three days after my wedding and demanded everything I owned.”
“We thought Daniel would provide for you.”
“You thought marriage transferred responsibility for me to another man, so my work became available for Jason.”
Her eyes filled.
“We didn’t want to lose you.”
“You were willing to throw me away as long as you kept the house.”
She denied it immediately.
Then I asked the only question that mattered.
“If the title report had said I owned one hundred percent, would you have taken it?”
She looked down.
That was the answer.
I slid the muffin container back toward her.
“This is the last time you come here to discuss Jason’s needs.”
She left without arguing.
The muffins remained on the table.
I threw them away.
May you like
Not because food was responsible for anything.
Because I no longer needed to preserve every gesture and call it love.
