No title.
No family money.
He wanted to ask whether I would consider one mediated meeting.
I said no.
Then six months later—
yes.
Because no had been mine.
Yes could be mine too.
We met at a therapist's office.
Trevor entered slowly.
He had lost weight.
Hair shorter.
No expensive clothes.
He sat across from me.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then:
“Mom.”
I waited.
“I used to think the worst thing I did was hit you.”
My body tensed.
He continued.
“It was the worst physical thing.”
“But the belief underneath it started earlier.”
I said nothing.
“I thought because you were my mother, what you built eventually belonged to me.”
He swallowed.
“I thought your boundaries were temporary.”
“Your no meant not yet.”
“Your property meant future mine.”
“Your generosity meant debt you owed me again.”
My eyes burned.
He looked at me.
“I turned being your son into a claim.”
