I straightened the folds in my navy blue dress, smoothing out the invisible wrinkles. It was the kind of dress I’d always thought appropriate for family dinners. Not too dressy to keep Marissa from rolling her eyes, but decent enough not to look sloppy.

At 77, I’d long since stopped chasing fashion, but I’d always liked to look neat. Garrett said dinner would start at 7 o’clock. I still had an hour left.

I looked around my living room where every single thing told a story. A picture with James at our golden wedding. Little Garrett with his fishing rod and the first fish he caught.

Toby and Rebecca at graduation. These pictures are silent witnesses to a time when everything seemed simpler. My gaze lingers on James’ picture.

What would he do now? Fifteen years have passed since he was gone, and I still mentally consult him. Edith, don’t let yourself get hurt, he would say. James always knew how to set boundaries, even with his own son.

I, on the other hand, didn’t. The phone vibrated on the table. A message from Garrett.

Smiling, I reached for my glasses, waiting for clarification about tonight. Perhaps he was asking if I needed help getting to their new home, though he’d rarely offered such help in recent years. Mom, I’m sorry, but we can’t make it tonight.

Marissa is hosting a dinner for her co-workers. We’ll reschedule for another day. I re-read the message.

Something didn’t add up. Garrett had called yesterday, insisting I be there, talking about some special announcement. I looked at the message again when my phone vibrated with a new notification.

You weren’t invited to dinner, my wife doesn’t want you there. My hand trembled, my heart clenched as if someone had wrapped icy fingers around it. It couldn’t be from Garrett, not from my son, but it was his name, his number.

I sank slowly into the chair, still clutching the phone, as if letting it out of my hands would lose the last link to reality. Memories flashed before my eyes, little Garrett clinging to my skirt on the first day of kindergarten. Teenage Garrett embarrassedly asking for girl advice, adult Garrett introducing Marissa to me, beaming with happiness.

And now this message, cold, detached, alienating. Was it a sudden decision or just the first time they’d decided to be honest? How many times had they discussed me behind closed doors? How many smiles were fake? How many invitations were forced? My gaze fell on a brochure lying on the table, a glossy advertisement for the River Ridge Estates apartment complex, their new home, a three-story townhouse overlooking the river with a private dock. The house for which I’d made a down payment of $120,000 six months ago.

Mom, it’s an investment in the future, Garrett had said then. A place for family gatherings. Your corner will be too.

My corner, I grinned bitterly. Apparently that corner had just disappeared. I remembered the day Garrett and I had been at the bank.

The manager had looked at me with poorly concealed surprise as I signed the paperwork. Are you sure, Mrs. Wembley? It’s a substantial sum. I was sure.

James had left me enough so I could help our son. It was the right thing to do. There were other investments after that.

A new car for Garrett. Safer for traveling with the kids. A private school for Toby.

The boy has special learning needs. The kitchen remodel Marissa had longed for. She works so hard, she deserves comfort.

Each time I pulled out my checkbook and each time it felt like the right thing to do. And what did I get in return? Rare phone calls, formal visits on holidays, and now this text. I rose slowly and walked over to the secretary I’d gotten from my mother.

The top right-hand drawer where I kept all my financial documents. Neatly arranged folders with receipts, bank statements, checks. The folder labeled Garrett was the thickest.

I opened it and started going through the documents. Here was a check for $20,000 alone to start a business that Garrett had abandoned after six months. A receipt for continuing education courses for Marissa.

A bill for roof repairs on their previous home. Toby’s car insurance. How many things had I paid for over the years? How many times have I helped, supported, rescued, and for what? To be barred from the doorstep of a house I’d paid for? The phone vibrated again.

I flinched, but it was a message from someone else. Rebecca, my granddaughter. Grandma, are you coming over today? I missed you.

My hand hovered over the keyboard. Rebecca had always been different, sincere, caring. Even when her parents and brother had forgotten I existed, she made time to stop by to call, to ask how I was doing.

I typed slowly. Honey, it looks like your parents have decided it’s best for me to stay home. I sent it.

A few seconds later came the reply. What? Why? Daddy said yesterday that you absolutely had to be. So Rebecca didn’t know.

I imagined her now standing somewhere in that new house perplexed. The house I’d paid for. My gaze fell back to the file folder.

All these years I thought I was buying my family’s love and respect. But as it turned out, I was only renting their time and attention, and the lease seemed to have expired. I picked up my cell phone and dialed my bank’s number.

After a few beeps, a polite female voice answered. Good evening, Fayetteville Community Bank. How may I help you? Good evening.

My name is Edith Wembley. I’d like to consult about some regular payments from my account. Of course, Mrs. Wembley.

I will need to ask a few questions to confirm your identity. As she listed her questions and I patiently answered, a plan formed in my mind. Clear, ruthless, fair.

Thank you for the confirmation, Mrs. Wembley. What exactly can I do for you? I’d like to cancel all automatic payments and transfers from all my accounts. Every single one.

There was a brief pause. All payments, Mrs. Wembley? You have quite a few. Yes, all of them.

And I also need to revoke the power of attorney I gave to my son, Garrett Wembley. I see. I could hear the slight confusion in her voice.

This is a major change, Mrs. Wembley. Perhaps you should come down to the bank branch for a more detailed… I’ll come down tomorrow morning and sign the necessary documents, I interrupted. But I need the process to start today.

Is that possible? Another pause. Yes, we can temporarily suspend all payments until your visit, but we’ll need your signature for a full reversal. Oh, that’s great.

Suspend everything right now. While she typed something on her computer, I looked at James’s picture. You were right, honey, I thought.

You can’t let people sit on your neck, even if they are your own children. Ready, Mrs. Wembley. Temporary suspension activated.

You have a total of… She paused. 174 regular payments and transfers, all of which are blocked until your visit to the branch. 174.

I had no idea there were so many. 174 ways I’ve supported my son and his family. Thank you.

I’ll be there tomorrow when it opens. I hung up the phone and felt a strange sense of relief. It was as if the heavy backpack I’d been carrying for years had suddenly been lifted off my shoulders.

The phone vibrated again. Garrett! Rebecca must have said something to him. I didn’t bother answering it.

Instead, I wrote a short message. Then pay your own way, freeloaders! My finger froze over the send button. Was I ready to turn the page? To destroy the fragile piece that I had supported for so long with my money and patience? But hadn’t they been the first to destroy it by denying me even basic respect? Hadn’t they decided I was no longer needed? Not even in the house I’d paid for? I pressed send, and then turned the phone off.