I didn’t receive any more calls, mostly because their cell phones were still disconnected and they hadn’t bothered to get a new plan yet.
I spent Saturday morning in my backyard pruning the rose bushes.
My neighbor Helen leaned over the wooden fence holding a pair of shears.
“You look different, Monica,” Helen observed, snipping a dead leaf. “Lighter somehow.”
“I dropped about 300 lb of dead weight.”
I smiled, trimming a thorny branch.
By Tuesday, I received an email from David.
He had clearly used his office computer.
The message was brief and dripping with guilt.
“Timmy and Lily keep asking why Grandma hates them. They want to come over. Also, the transmission on Sarah’s car’s car is slipping. We desperately need $300 to fix it so she can take the kids to school. Please, Mom.”
I read the email twice.
A year ago, the mention of my grandchildren would have had me reaching for my checkbook immediately.
Sarah knew exactly what she was doing.
She always used the kids as a shield, deploying them whenever she needed something.
I replied to the email with a single sentence.
“I’m sorry to hear about the car. The city bus schedule is available online.”
10 minutes later, my phone vibrated with a text from an unknown number.
It was Sarah using a prepaid phone.
“You are a monster. Don’t expect us to beg.”
I didn’t reply.
I blocked the number, set my phone on the counter, and went back out to the garden.
I missed Timmy and Lily terribly, but I knew that if I caved now, the cycle would never end.
I had to starve the manipulation.
If I held firm, they would eventually realize they had no leverage left.
On Thursday morning, a silver SUV pulled up to my driveway.
I watched through the living room window as Sarah marched up the walkway, pulling 5-year-old Timmy and 3-year-old Lily by their hands.