She tilted her head, smirking. “You’re Linda’s son. I was the one here. You barely showed up.”
I couldn’t speak. She shut the door, leaving me on the porch with my life boxed and abandoned. No car. No plan. Just shame.
My mother picked up on the second ring. “James? What’s wrong?”
“She threw me out,” I said, voice cracking.
Her tone sharpened. “Don’t touch anything. I’m coming. There’s something your father asked me to keep quiet — something you need to see.”
Three hours later, her old Honda pulled into the driveway. She stepped out different — steady, fierce. She hugged me tight, then handed me an envelope.
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