I didn’t argue.
I texted him a clear photo of Jessica’s injured arm.
Silence.
After several seconds, he finally spoke.
“Well, Mom has always had a very strong, difficult character,” Justin finally muttered quietly.
“Then pack her up and move her into your own house, give her your primary bedroom, send her monthly allowance money, and let her throw massive parties while your wife serves her friends,” I suggested bitterly.
“That is completely different and you know it,” he argued defensively.
“No, it is exactly the same thing,” I said, and hung up the phone.
Predictably, no relative volunteered to take Carmen in.
I also stopped the generous monthly payments I’d been sending her for years.
She still had her retirement income and a mortgage-free home in Baltimore.
What I would no longer finance were expensive clothes, parties, and luxuries built on my family’s suffering.
That decision triggered another storm of angry messages.
