shaking her head. “She thinks she’s being clever.”
Gail barely glanced at the screen. “She’s bluffing. She wouldn’t dare.”
Mom dismissed the whole thing.
For eight years, she had watched the same pattern.
I would get frustrated.
She would make me feel guilty.
I would come back.
Every time.
She told Gail I had threatened to stop helping before and never followed through.
By afternoon, she confidently predicted, I would show up with pastries and an apology.
That was what I always did.
Threaten.
Sulking.
Return.
And honestly, she had
