During the following week, Daniel sent brief messages.
“Can we talk?”
“Mom is really stressed.”
“This got out of hand.”
“You made your point.”
I responded only once.
“My point is that I am no longer funding people who disrespect me.”
He remained silent for two days.
Then the spreadsheet arrived.
It appeared in my email with the subject line “Proposed Family Budget.” Daniel had created columns for rent, utilities, groceries, debt payments, my parents’ medical bills, and support for his family. He had reduced the Whitaker transfers from $2,500 to $1,200 and labeled the amount “compromise.”
I stared at it for a full minute before laughing.
Not because it was amusing.
Because after everything, he still believed my money was a resource that could be negotiated back into his family’s hands.
I replied with one word.
“No.”
He called that evening.
“Claire, you’re being impossible.”
“I’m being consistent.”
“You won’t even compromise?”
“I already compromised for three years.”
He released a heavy sigh. “My parents might lose the house.”
“Then they need to speak with their lender, sell the truck, reduce expenses, or get additional income.”
“You sound cold.”
“I sound like you.”
Silence followed.
Then he said, “That’s different.”
It was always different when the discomfort belonged to him.
