My parents called fourteen times. Madison called six. I answered none of them.
Three days later, Dad emailed me.
He had reviewed the folder and admitted he never understood how much I had contributed. He apologized, said he should have confronted Madison years earlier, and asked to meet privately whenever I was ready.
I read the email three times but waited two weeks before answering.
During those weeks, I furnished my apartment with things I chose for myself.
I cooked food the way I liked it, made strong coffee, and spent mornings reading without anyone demanding my money or attention.
Eventually, I agreed to meet Dad at a café near my office.
It was neutral ground, far from the house where I had spent years being told to make myself smaller.
