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

And I could almost hear the answer. Don’t let them trample on your dignity, Edith. You deserve better than that.

I went to the window. Outside, Mrs. Fletcher was walking her dachshund. When she saw me, she waved.

I waved back, thinking about how few people were left in my life who were actually happy to see me. The phone rang, snapping me out of my musings. It was Wesley.

Mom, good morning. His voice sounded suspiciously cheerful. How are you feeling? Fine, I answered.

How’s Cora, is she better? There was a second’s pause. I could almost see him frantically recalling last night’s lie. No, she’s the same.

She’s lying down with a fever. The doctor said it might be a while. That’s a shame, I said with fake sympathy.

I was thinking of baking her a chicken pot pie and bringing it over. Nothing like a home-cooked meal for a cold. No, no, you don’t have to, Wesley answered hastily.

We have everything, really. I’m just calling to see if you need anything. Maybe you’re out of medication? Oh, that’s it.

Checking to see if I’m going out tonight. Making sure I stay home while they celebrate without me. Thanks, son.

I’ve got everything, I replied. I’m going to spend the evening reading. I’ve been wanting to reread Agatha Christie for ages.

That’s a great idea, Wesley said with obvious relief. Okay, Mom, I have to go to work. If you need anything, call me.

I hung up the phone and looked at my watch. Ten o’clock in the morning. There was still plenty of time before dinner tonight.

Time to think about how things had gotten to this point. When had things changed? When did my children stop considering me? When did I go from being a mother to being a burden? Maybe it started after George died. Wesley and Thelma used to come every day, help with the funeral, the paperwork.

But then their visits became less and less frequent. First once a week, then once a month. Thelma was always in a hurry, always looking at her watch.

Wesley came more often, but his visits usually coincided with requests for money. Mom, it’s Cora’s birthday. I want to get her a necklace, but we’re tight on money this month.

Mom, we have a leaky roof. We need repairs right away, but all the money went to pay for Reed’s College. Mom, I’ve invested in a promising project, but we need to re-borrow for now.

I always gave. Not because I believed his stories—they’d gotten less and less believable over the years—but because I wanted to feel that they needed me at least that way. That they’d come to me even if only for money.

I pulled an old notebook out of the closet where I’d written down all of Wesley’s loans. Over fifteen years it had accumulated a sizable sum. Money he’ll never pay back, and we both know it.

It’s different with Thelma. She doesn’t ask for money directly, but every time I go to her flower store she insists I buy the most expensive bouquet. Mom, you don’t want people to think I can’t provide my mother with decent flowers, do you? And I buy.

Every time. And then there was the case of the medication. Six months ago the doctor prescribed me new blood pressure pills.

Expensive, but effective. Wesley made a big fuss about it. Mom, are you crazy? $400 a month for pills? That’s ruin.

Let’s look for cheaper alternatives. I tried to explain that other medications don’t work for me, that I can be allergic, but he wouldn’t listen. Thelma backed him up.

Mom, you have to be more frugal. We all have expenses. And this was coming from people who changed their cell phones to new models every month.

Who went on vacation to the Bahamas and bragged about their new car. My thoughts were interrupted by the doorbell. Audrey, Reed’s girlfriend, stood on the doorstep.

A sweet, shy girl with a lock of red hair and freckles. Hello, Mrs. Thornberry, she fidgeted nervously with the strap of her bag. Reed said he might have left his notebook here.

Yes, dear, come in, I let her in. I was just going to look for it. Would you like some tea? While I made tea, Audrey looked around the living room at the pictures.

Is that Reed as a child? She asked, pointing to a picture of a five-year-old boy holding a fishing rod. Yes, his first fishing trip with his grandfather. I smiled, handing her a cup.

He caught such a tiny little fish, but he was as proud as if it was a shark. Audrey laughed, and for a moment the house felt young and alive again. Mrs. Thornberry, she said suddenly…