“She had food.”
“She had two packets of noodles.”
“She is exaggerating.”
“I watched the security footage.”
For the first time, my mother had no answer.
The silence stretched between us.
Then she said, very quietly, “You had no right to record private conversations.”
“It’s my apartment.”
“That camera was supposed to be for burglars.”
“It was.”
Her breath caught.
“David, you are upset. I understand that. We made a mistake leaving earlier than planned.”
“You took the baby’s formula.”
“We replaced it.”
“You turned down the heat.”
“The apartment gets stuffy.”
“You took the food.”
“It would have spoiled.”
“And you spent the fourteen thousand dollars.”
“That money was for family expenses.”
“It was for Maya and Liam.”
“You said it was to take care of the family.”
Her voice had changed. She was no longer denying what happened. She was rearranging the meaning of it.
