Mr. Grant picked up the folder. “Tomorrow morning, the trustee will file the formal notice.”
My father stepped toward him, something desperate and cornered in his posture now. “You’re destroying my life.”
Mr. Grant answered quietly, without any satisfaction in his voice at all. “No, Richard.” He looked toward the exit doors. “Your choices are doing that.”
Then he walked away. I followed him, my legs feeling strange and distant beneath me. Behind us, I heard my mother crying. I heard Aunt Monica arguing with my father, their voices overlapping in ways I couldn’t fully parse. And I heard one sentence that stayed with me for a very long time afterward.
“I thought you said Mom would never find out.”
I didn’t turn around.
For the first time in my entire life, I didn’t feel responsible for fixing my family’s problems. I went home instead.
