Chapter 2 - The Unpaid Servant
Four years ago, after my beloved husband Arthur passed away from a sudden stroke, Colin had taken my hands in his and wept.
"Mom, you can't stay in that big house in San Antonio alone," he had told me. "Come live with us. We want you with us. You're family."
I had sold Arthur's home—the home where we raised Colin—and used the modest proceeds to help Colin put a down payment on this sprawling, six-bedroom Mediterranean-style house in the hills of Westlake, Austin. I thought I was moving into a home.
Instead, I had moved into a high-end service position without a paycheck.
It started small. A load of laundry here. A slow-cooked pot roast there. Picking up the kids from soccer practice when Jessica had a late court deposition. But within a year, the boundaries dissolved completely.
I woke up at 6:00 AM every morning to make breakfast for four people. I scrubbed toilets. I ironed Colin’s dress shirts. I weeded the flowerbeds. I bought the groceries with my modest social security check because Jessica was always "forgetting" to transfer money into the joint household account.
Then came the night that shattered whatever illusion of family I had left.
It was three months before my birthday. I was coming down the hallway with a heavy hamper of folded bath towels when I heard low voices coming from the kitchen.
"She's slowing down, Colin," Jessica’s voice echoed off the tile walls. "She forgot to pick up Lucas from tutoring on Tuesday. And she left the porch light on all night. She's becoming a burden."
A long silence followed. I stood frozen in the dark hallway, holding the laundry basket against my chest.
"What do you want me to do, Jess?" Colin replied, his voice defensive but weak. "She’s my mother. She helped us buy this house."
"That was four years ago!" Jessica snapped. "Her money is gone. Now she's just an extra mouth to feed, and frankly, she takes up the best bedroom on the main floor. Lucas is eleven now. He needs his own suite downstairs. Your mother is taking up valuable real estate in our own home."
Colin didn't defend me. He didn't say, She raised me. He didn't say, She cooks your meals and watches our children.
May you like
He just sighed—a heavy, annoyed sound. "I know. I'll figure something out."
I had backed away quietly into the darkness, my heart bleeding silently. I had spent my entire life protecting my son. And now, to him, I was nothing more than an inconvenient piece of furniture blocking a hallway.
