I looked at her manicured nails, paid for with the emergency money she had borrowed from me the month before.
“What did you sacrifice?” I asked.
Dad’s expression hardened.
“Careful.”
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded document.
“We already drafted a family support agreement. Sign it tonight, and we won’t make this ugly.”
I looked down at the signature line.
My name had already been typed there.
So I walked to my desk, opened the top drawer, and removed an envelope I had prepared years earlier without knowing exactly when I would need it.
I placed it in front of them.
“Fine,” I said. “Here’s what I owe you.”
Mom smiled.
Then she opened the envelope.
And both of them went silent.
