Marlene blinked, confused for a second. I think she expected tears, apologies, maybe a scene, but I gave her none of that—just that one word, noted.
Let me explain how I got here, how I ended up sitting in one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city, watching my own family devour $60 lobsters while I had a glass of tap water in front of me. Because this story didn’t start tonight. It started years ago, when I decided that being a mother meant sacrificing everything.
And boy did I.
Michael is my only son. I raised him alone after his father abandoned us when he was just 5 years old. I worked three jobs for years. I cleaned houses. I waited tables. I cooked in other people’s kitchens. All so he could have what I never had—education, opportunities, a future.
I paid for his entire college education: every semester, every book, every single coffee he’d grab with his friends while he studied. I supported him when he decided to change his major twice. I supported him when he met Marleene and told me she was the woman of his life. I supported him even when she started looking at me as if I were an obstacle in her perfect upper middle class life.
I never asked for anything in return.