I looked down at my hands.
For six years, I had allowed myself to be treated like a guest in a house I had helped make possible.
Yet the moment I put boundaries around my own money, the paperwork made it sound almost cold.
Withdrawn.
Revoked.
Demanded.
Terminated.
Words with no room for hurt.
“You’re certain we did this properly?”
I asked.
“Every step was reviewed.
You gave them reasonable notice.
You didn’t empty a joint account.
You didn’t remove money that legally belonged to either of them.
You stopped providing funds and released yourself from obligations you never had to carry.”
She paused.
“Albert, you are not punishing them by refusing to remain financially responsible for their lives.”
I gave a tired smile.
“It feels like punishment to them.”
“That may be because they confused your generosity with a permanent arrangement.”
I looked through the glass wall toward the reception area.
