“And I want you to sell that old wreck before it empties your bank account.”
He walked out before I could respond.
For the next two days, the criticism continued.
Whenever I mentioned replacing the porch boards, Declan demanded to know whether I’d checked the cost of lumber.
When I discussed painting the kitchen, he reminded me that the roof needed attention first.
“I know the roof is a priority,” I told him.
“Then why are you thinking about the kitchen?”
“Because I’m allowed to plan more than one improvement at a time.”
Nothing satisfied him.
The worst moment came during dinner.
Our ten-year-old son, Owen, looked up from his plate.
“Mom, can I have my own room at Grandma Rose’s house?”
“Of course, sweetheart.”
“Could we put shelves on the walls for my comic books? Like the ones at the comic store?”
I smiled.
“We’ll see what fits.”
