My son looked at me in that suburban Phoenix house and said, “You’re becoming a burden, Mom. Maybe it’s time you figured out your own life,” forgetting that I had sold my Scottsdale house after the hospital debt, handed him and his wife $120,000, and that just one month later, he would be standing outside the gates of a $2.3 million mansion, no longer so sure who had really been pushed out.
“Oh no,” Ivy said, standing barefoot on the cream rug in her matching red pajama set, one hand lifted to her mouth in practiced surprise. “We must’ve misplaced yours, Dela.” …
My son looked at me in that suburban Phoenix house and said, “You’re becoming a burden, Mom. Maybe it’s time you figured out your own life,” forgetting that I had sold my Scottsdale house after the hospital debt, handed him and his wife $120,000, and that just one month later, he would be standing outside the gates of a $2.3 million mansion, no longer so sure who had really been pushed out. Read More