Because that was not a question to punish.
It was the first crack in a wall that had existed for decades.
Finally I said, “By loving her in the wrong way.”
Mom broke.
Not dramatic crying.
The exhausted kind.
The kind that sounds like something collapsing.
I stayed on the phone.
For the first time in my life, I did not solve the problem.
I did not drive over.
I did not send money.
I did not search for Tessa.
I simply stayed on the line while my mother cried.
Dad eventually returned.
They called the police.
Tessa was found the next afternoon at a roadside hotel seventy miles away.
She had spent almost four thousand dollars in less than thirty-six hours.
The rest was recovered.
Dad did not press charges.
I expected that.
But something changed anyway.
When Tessa came back to collect the rest of her belongings, Dad refused to let her move into their new apartment.
