Michael stared at her.
“You told me I had rights to the apartment.”
“You’re married.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I thought you did.”
“You told me you had looked it up.”
“I read some things online.”
Michael let out a disbelieving laugh.
“Mom.”
“I was trying to help.”
“I know.”
“But helping someone does not mean deciding what should happen to their life.”
Linda’s eyes filled. Michael faced me.
“I did the same thing to Emily.”
“I decided she was leaving me without asking. I decided she would reject the investment without asking. I decided what her working late meant. And then I acted on all of it.”
Linda said nothing.
“I learned that from somewhere.”
Linda examined her hands. For perhaps the first time, I saw not Michael’s overbearing mother, but a woman who had spent almost two decades preparing for disasters because one disaster had once arrived without warning. Michael had mistaken pride for independence. I faced Linda.
