They spoke so prettily, claiming it was all for me.
If they didn't want to raise me, why did they have me?
Only after I graduated college and started working did they think to bring me back into the fold.
I returned to my rental apartment and lay in the dark for hours. That evening, my phone buzzed. It was my uncle, Mason Larsen.
"Gabriel, you fought with your parents, didn't you?" Mason sighed. "After all, they are your parents. They gave birth to you. What they did today was a bit excessive, sure, but..."
My anger, far from dissipating, flared up again.
"Uncle Mason," I cut in. "I lived with you and Grandparents growing up. You don't deny that, do you?"
A pause. Two seconds of dead air. "That is true."
"Then tell me, after they gave birth to me, did they actually raise me?"
Silence stretched over the line. Uncle Mason was speechless. I knew my mother must have called him, begging him to talk some sense into me. After all, I had spent more time with Mason than with my own parents.
"They were busy back then," Mason mumbled weakly. "They didn't have time. Now they're about to retire..."