She glanced toward his mansion.
“You live there?”
“Yes! Mom, that’s my house!”
“I didn’t know,” she whispered. “You’ve never invited me here.”
Brent looked at the empty bags in her hands.
Then at the garden.
Then at the families collecting vegetables.
Something terrible dawned on him.
“Mom… are you here because you need food?”
She lowered her eyes.
“I’ve been coming every Saturday for eighteen months.”
Brent staggered backward.
“But I send you money!”
“Two hundred dollars a month,” she replied. “And I appreciate it, sweetheart.”
“Then why are you here?”
Her voice trembled.
“My pension is eleven hundred dollars. Rent is eight hundred. My heart medication costs three hundred and forty after insurance. Then there are utilities, insurance, and everything else.”
She swallowed hard.
“There’s nothing left for groceries.”
Brent looked horrified.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you worked so hard to escape our old life,” she whispered. “You built a successful business. You bought that beautiful house. I didn’t want you worrying about me.”
