My grip on the phone tightened until my knuckles turned white.
"You said a half-grown boy eats his father out of house and home. You said if the fever burned his brain out, it would be a blessing—one less mouth to feed!"
"When his mother was dying, she wanted a decent coffin. I begged you again. You threw a sack of old corn at me and told me to take it as charity. That corn was riddled with weevils!"
The rage I'd suppressed for years erupted, shaking my entire frame.
"Now that my son is somebody, you remember kindness? Your 'kindness' was handing down rags at New Year and grain that pigs wouldn't eat!"
"You cling to him like leeches, sucking his blood, and you think you haven't taken enough? Me? Drag him down?"
My voice cracked.
"I, Asher Lambert, haven't taken a single cent of his money! When I was selling my own blood to keep him in school, where the hell were you?"
Dead silence on the line. I could hear his heavy, furious breathing.
I didn't wait for a retort. I slammed the hang-up button with everything I had.
I slumped against the bedframe, staring out the window at the gray, smog-choked city sky.
Tears carved tracks through the grime on my face.