At my son’s wedding in Seattle, the bride looked me dead in the eyes and said, “Starting tomorrow, you’re no longer part of this family. I’m the boss now—not you.” I smiled, walked away like it didn’t hurt, and canceled the $80,000 I’d promised for their first home—right there at the reception, while the music was still playing.

And I was only starting to see how bad this really was.

I got to Daniel’s apartment exactly at 7:00. The building was in a fancy part of town—everything expensive and new and modern, just what Amanda would want.

I had helped Daniel pay for the deposit on this apartment two years ago. Back when he lived alone, back when our relationship was easy and honest.

Amanda opened the door.

She didn’t smile. She didn’t pretend to be nice.

“Helen. Come in.”

The apartment looked completely different. All of Daniel’s comfortable old furniture was gone. Now everything was white and modern and cold. His bookshelf with his old comic books was gone. Even the photos—pictures of us, of his childhood, of his father—were gone from the walls.

“Where’s Daniel?” I asked.

“Getting us some water. Sit down.”

It wasn’t a kind invitation.