The Price of Thirty Years
Language: en
My son slid the bank card and the divorce papers across the table to me, like he was paying off a used-up maid. "Mom, three million. It's enough for the rest of your life." His tone was perfectly flat, like he was negotiating a business deal. I just looked at him. Twenty-six years old, six foot tall, wearing a designer suit I had scrimped and saved to buy him for his graduation. "I've looked into the divorce process. All you need to do is sign." In the living room, Richard sat on the sofa, not saying a word. I suddenly wanted to laugh. The son I raised for twenty-six years had come today…