It was a Wednesday, and I had just come home from a long day at Murphy’s Diner. Ten hours on my feet had left me aching and drained. I kicked off my shoes, sank into my old recliner, and closed my eyes.
Then, through the static of the walkie-talkie, I heard Max’s tiny voice.
I smiled. His bedtime chatter always brought comfort. But what came next froze me in place.
Through the crackling line, I heard Lila’s voice — light, casual, almost playful.
“You know, Tom,” she said, “we should rent out her spare room. She’s hardly ever home.”
A long silence. Then Thomas’s familiar chuckle. “Mom’s always been trusting.”
Lila laughed softly. “We could make six hundred a month without her even noticing.”
My pulse quickened. I told myself I must be misunderstanding — but the words kept coming.
“And once she starts paying for swimming lessons,” Lila continued, “we can finally plan that Hawaii trip. Free babysitting!”
Thomas laughed again. “The best part? She thinks daycare costs eight hundred. It’s only five hundred. We pocket the extra three hundred every month.”
“And when she gets older,” he added lightly, “we’ll find her a nice nursing home. That extra room will bring in some income.”
“She’ll say yes to anything if it’s for Max,” Lila said, giggling.
The walkie-talkie slipped from my hand and clattered to the floor. I sat there in the dark, my heart breaking in quiet disbelief. The people I loved most — the son I’d sacrificed everything for — had turned my love into their convenience.
