PART 8
Then, two days later, Tyler showed up at my door.
I saw his truck through the window.
I didn’t open the door.
He knocked again.
“Mom, I know you’re home.”
I continued washing dishes.
Another knock.
“Mom, please.”
I finally opened the door.
He looked exhausted.
His beard was untrimmed.
His shirt was wrinkled.
He looked like he hadn’t slept properly in days.
“What do you want?”
He looked past me.
“Can I come in?”
“No.”
His face fell.
“Mom…”
“What do you want?”
He swallowed.
“I need to talk to you.”
“You’ve said that before.”
“This time it’s important.”
I stepped outside and closed the door behind me.
“What happened?”
He stared at the ground.
“Business is bad.”
I said nothing.
“We lost another client.”
Still nothing.
“And the bank rejected our loan.”
I folded my arms.
“I’m sorry.”
“I need help.”
There it was.
The reason he’d come.
I looked at him.
“How much?”
“Twenty-five thousand.”
I almost laughed.
“Tyler.”
“I’ll pay you back.”
“You said that about the first twenty thousand.”
“I know.”
“You never paid it back.”
“I will.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
I looked at my son.
“Then you don’t have a repayment plan.”
He looked frustrated.
“Mom, I’m not asking for a handout.”
“What are you asking for?”
“A loan.”
“With what collateral?”
He stared at me.
“I don’t have any.”
“Then what makes this a loan?”
He looked away.
“You’re my mother.”
I nodded slowly.
“That’s exactly why this is difficult.”
He looked at me.
“Please.”
I took a deep breath.
“I won’t give you twenty-five thousand dollars.”
His face collapsed.
“But I can help you find a financial counselor.”
“I don’t need a counselor.”
“Then what do you need?”
“Money.”
“I can’t give you that.”
He became angry.
“So you’re just going to let your own son fail?”
“No.”
“I’ll lose my business.”
“Then you need to make decisions to save it.”
He stared at me.
“You have millions sitting in accounts.”
I froze.
He had finally said it.
The thing I had always feared.
I had never told him the amount.
Not once.
“How do you know?”
He looked embarrassed.
“Mom…”
“How do you know how much money I have?”
He didn’t answer.
“Tyler.”
He sighed.
“Dad told me once.”
My heart sank.
“William?”
“Years ago.”
“That isn’t possible.”
“He said you two were doing well.”
I stared at him.
“That isn’t the same as knowing what I have.”
He looked away.
Then he said something that changed the entire conversation.
“Mom, I knew you could afford the rent.”
I felt a chill.
“What?”
“I knew you weren’t struggling.”
“So you charged me because you knew I could pay.”
“No.”
“You just said you knew.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“It means exactly that.”
His voice became defensive.
“Everyone contributes.”
I looked at him.
“Barbara didn’t.”
“She was helping Jess.”
“So was I.”
“You were living here.”
“So was she.”
He had no answer.
I quietly closed my eyes.
For years, I had made excuses for him.
He was stressed.
He was young.
He was struggling.
He had a wife who influenced him.
He had business problems.
But sometimes the truth was much simpler.
My son had chosen convenience over kindness.
And I had finally stopped making excuses for him.
“You need to go,” I said.
“Mom…”
“Please.”
He stood there for a moment.
Then he nodded.
“Okay.”
He walked back toward his truck.
Before getting in, he turned around.
“Are you really never going to help me again?”
I looked at him.
“I will help you when helping you doesn’t destroy me.”
He stared at me.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I won’t give you money you haven’t learned to manage.”
He nodded slowly.
Then he drove away.
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