“Your mother is gone. Tears won’t bring her back—so wipe your face, make dinner, and don’t look like a grieving child when my guests arrive.” That was what my husband said.

Vance for trivial matters like the food being bland or the floor not being clean enough. He remembered the time he yelled at her when Mrs. Vance asked for money for her medicine when in reality if she had wanted to, she could have bought the entire hospital. He remembered how he had always boasted in front of Mrs. Vance about being the pillar of the family, bragging about his salary, which was nothing more than crumbs compared to his mother-in-law’s fortune. Extreme shame mixed with a paralyzing fear, began to take hold of him. He had been insulting the boss of his boss, the owner of the throne to which he begged for his livelihood.