My son said dinner was canceled, but when I got to the restaurant…

Wesley was the first to regain his speech. Mom, this is… this is crazy. He tried to keep his voice low, but there was panic in his voice.

You can’t just just take everything away from us because of one misunderstanding. A misunderstanding? I looked at him with genuine surprise. You consider years of neglect a misunderstanding.

Lying about tonight is a misunderstanding. Talking behind my back about my supposed dementia is also a misunderstanding. Mom, we were worried about you, Thelma interjected.

Her voice trembled, but her eyes remained dry. You live alone in a big house. It’s hard for you to take care of it.

And that’s why you decided to sell it without asking me? I interrupted. Anxiety looks different, dear. Worry is when you call every day to see how I’m doing, when you offer to help instead of waiting for me to become so helpless that you can run my life.

Cora, who had been silent until then, suddenly spoke up. Edith, you’re being unfair. We have always treated you with respect, always cared.

Have we? I turned to her. Then why, when I needed money for medication that wasn’t covered by insurance, did Wesley say you were having financial difficulties? And then a week later, you flew to the Bahamas? Cora blushed and lowered her eyes. It was a planned vacation, she mumbled.

We couldn’t cancel them. Of course, I nodded. Vacations are more important than old mother’s health.

I understand. I got up from the table, gathering my purse. Well, I won’t spoil your holiday with my presence anymore.

I’ve said all I have to say. You’re leaving? Thelma looked confused. But, uh, but what about the- what about the money? I finished it for her.

It’s gone, dear. Not the house, not the savings you’ve been waiting for. There’s only me, your mother, who has finally decided to live for herself instead of waiting for you to find five minutes in your schedule to visit me.

Reed jumped to his feet. I’ll walk you out, Grandma. Thank you, sweetheart, but you don’t have to.

I touched his shoulder gently. Stay, finish your dinner. I’ll see you tomorrow.

I turned to the others. And with you, maybe not. It’s up to you.

I headed for the exit, feeling the stares of not only my family, but the other diners as well. But I didn’t care. For the first time in years, I felt free.

Free from expectations, from disappointment, from the endless expectation of attention and care that would never come. Lewis was waiting for me at the exit. Leaving Edith? He asked with a slight sadness in his voice.

Not because of the quality of the service, I hope? The service was excellent, Lewis, I replied sincerely. As it always is with you. It’s just that I have to go home.

Let me call you a cab, he offered as he walked me out. I’d appreciate it. While we waited for the cab, Lewis looked at me carefully.

Tense atmosphere at your table. Family matters, I smiled weakly. Sometimes the truth is bitter.

But necessary, he nodded. Like bitter medicine? Exactly, I agreed. Like bitter medicine.

The cab pulled up and Lewis gallantly opened the door for me. You know, Edith, I’ve always admired you, he said suddenly. When I was a boy, you were always so real.

No pretenses, no falsehoods. Thank you, Lewis. I was touched by his words.

It means a lot to me. I heard about the project for the new wing of the library, he added. It’s a wonderful idea.

George would be proud. I froze halfway into the cab. Do you know about it? Blue Springs is a small town, Edith, he smiled softly.

Everybody knows everything here, especially when it comes to such a generous donation. I nodded, feeling oddly relieved that the news had already spread. There was no turning back now.

It’s the right thing to do, I said, getting into the cab. The only right decision. I don’t doubt it, Lewis said seriously.

And Edith, if you ever want to talk or have a cup of tea, my door is always open to you. I’ll remember that, I promised. I, as the cab pulled away, I didn’t look back at the restaurant.

I didn’t want to see if my children would come out to say goodbye to me or stay inside discussing what had happened. In the end, it didn’t matter anymore. I had done what I should have done a long time ago.

I had regained control of my life. And though my heart was heavy with the realization of what my children had grown up to be, I felt strangely relieved, like I’d gotten rid of a heavy weight I’d been carrying around all these years. The cab turned the corner and the Willow Creek restaurant disappeared from view…