I Let Them Use My Money Until They Fed My Son a Hotdog

body go cold, right down to my fingers on the edge of the door.

“You’re still saying one dinner.”

He started in again about misunderstanding and overreaction and how his kids “barely touched the steaks anyway,” which somehow made it worse. The pie smell was crawling through the crack in the door, syrup and fake cinnamon.

I said, “Get off my porch.”

He continue reading …