Chapter 12 - WHAT MY MOTHER CALLED FAIRNESSMom asked me to stay after the meeting.
I nearly didn't.
Then I did.
Because Richard was easier to understand.
Dad wanted control.
Diane wanted something more complicated.
She poured coffee.
Neither of us drank it.
“You think I love Britney more.”
I stared at her.
“Do you?”
“No.”
The answer was immediate.
I believed her.
“Then why?”
Diane looked toward the windows.
“When you were children, Britney always needed more.”
“I know.”
“You were so independent.”
“I was a child too.”
Her face changed.
That sentence landed.
She continued anyway.
“You never cried when we dropped you at camp.”
“I cried in the bathroom.”
Mom looked at me.
“I didn't know.”
“You didn't ask.”
Silence.
“You paid your own way.”
“Because Dad praised me when I did.”
“Britney fell apart when anything went wrong.”
“So you rushed to catch her.”
“Yes.”
“And then you started believing I didn't need catching.”
Mom cried.
For a moment I felt sorry for her.
Then she said:
“You had the money for another car eventually.”
There it was.
The old logic surviving beneath the tears.
I laughed.
“Do you hear yourself?”
She looked ashamed.
“I meant—”
“I know exactly what you meant.”
Britney could lose the money.
Dad could lose the project.
Caleb could lose trust.
Mom could lose face.
But Natalie could replace the car eventually.
Therefore my loss was cheapest.
That was how Diane defined fairness.
Not equal ownership.
Least visible pain.
Take from whoever appears strongest.
“Why didn't you tell Dad to sell the boat earlier?”
“He loved it.”
“I loved my car.”
“That’s different.”
“Why?”
No answer.
“Why was his pleasure protected and mine available?”
Mom looked down.
That question finally reached somewhere deeper.
Because Richard's wants were treated as fixed.
Britney's needs were urgent.
Mine were optional.
Diane whispered:
“I thought you’d forgive us.”
That was the truth.
Not that she thought I’d be happy.
Not that she thought it was right.
She believed the consequence of hurting me would be manageable.
I would scream.
Leave.
Then forgive.
Because I always had.
“I might forgive you someday.”
Hope appeared.
I stopped it.
“That doesn't mean I go back to the same relationship.”
Her face collapsed.
“What does that mean?”
“No more loans.”
“Natalie—”
“No.”
She went quiet.
“No access to my accounts. No financial rescues. No announcing things on my behalf. No telling Britney what I will do before you ask me.”
“We're your parents.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“That’s the relationship.”
I stood.
“Not a power of attorney over my life.”
Mom started crying again.
May you like
I loved her.
I left anyway.
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