Chapter 4: The Long Ride Home

I opened my banking app, found Lily’s linked Venmo account—the limit was only $100—and unlinked it without hesitation.

My hands were steady as I tapped through the menus, the digital separation feeling oddly satisfying. It was one small step toward reclaiming my autonomy.

An hour later, my phone rang.

The screen flashed LILY in all caps, the familiar ringtone buzzing through the kitchen. I watched it vibrate on the counter before finally picking up.

“Mom!” My daughter’s furious voice came from the other end. “Why can’t I use Venmo anymore? I don’t have money for a ticket home now!”

She sounded panicked, her bravado gone, replaced by the raw fear of being stranded far from home. I let her words hang, savoring the moment she realized actions had consequences.

I spoke slowly: “Oh, I unlinked it. Didn’t you say you wouldn’t rely on me?”

I kept my tone calm, even gentle, but I made sure she heard the steel beneath the words. For once, I wouldn’t rush in to save her from herself.

“You’re vicious! Selfish!” Lily’s voice was shaking with rage. “You just want to embarrass me! If I starve to death out here, you’ll be happy! Are you even human?”

Her accusations tumbled out, wild and desperate. I pictured her standing in a crowded bus station, the smell of greasy food and diesel fumes all around her, and I felt a strange mixture of pity and pride.

She yelled like a machine gun, but I just found it funny.

Her words, once so powerful, now felt hollow. I let them wash over me, refusing to let them stick.

In my previous life, when she called me useless, I couldn’t sleep from heartbreak. But now, I just wanted to laugh.

The weight of her disappointment no longer crushed me. I realized I’d survived worse, and I was stronger for it.

“Then go to your dad. He wouldn’t let his little darling suffer.” I hung up and put my phone on silent.

I set the phone face down, took a long sip of my coffee, and watched the sunrise through the window, feeling the first flickers of peace I’d had in years.

As expected, three minutes later, my phone started buzzing like crazy again—this time it was Derek.

The caller ID flashed his name, the sound urgent and insistent. I considered letting it go to voicemail, but curiosity got the better of me.

As soon as I picked up, he started yelling: “What kind of mother are you? Your daughter is out of town alone, and you don’t even buy her a ticket home? Just leave her out there? She’s your own daughter—how can you be so heartless!”

His voice was shrill, the panic forced and familiar. I pictured him pacing his living room, waving his phone for effect, his new wife rolling her eyes in the background.

I raised my eyebrows. “Didn’t she tell you? She went to a concert.”

I let the word hang, knowing it would take a second for the reality to sink in.

“What’s wrong with a daughter going to a concert? Young people have dreams—that’s great.”

He tried to sound noble, as if he were the world’s most understanding dad. I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing.

I snorted. “Then do you know what day yesterday was?”

I let the silence draw out, savoring the moment.

“What day?”

“The day of the SATs.” I said each word slowly. “Your daughter didn’t go to the test center. Between the concert and the SATs, she chose the concert.”

There was an awkward silence on the other end. I guessed Derek was trying hard to remember what grade his daughter was in.

I pictured him scrolling through old emails, desperate for a clue, the realization dawning too late.

In the end, he changed the subject: “Well… why didn’t you stop her? Now she’s out of town alone. Safety is most important… Anyway, you can’t treat the kid like this.”

He dodged the blame as easily as ever, shifting the responsibility back onto me. I rolled my eyes, letting the annoyance roll off my shoulders.

“Oh.” I snorted. “Then you give her money.”

The satisfaction of turning the tables was delicious. For once, he’d have to put his money where his mouth was.

I couldn’t be bothered to listen to his nonsense anymore and hung up directly.

I set my phone down, the quiet filling the room like a balm. I let myself enjoy the victory, however small.

On the third morning, as I was drinking coffee, the door creaked open.

The scent of hazelnut coffee drifted through the kitchen as I settled at the table with the local paper. The front door groaned open, and Lily stumbled inside, dragging her backpack and misery behind her.

My daughter dragged her feet inside, covered in dust, her hair a mess like a bird’s nest, as if she’d just climbed back from a construction site.

She looked like she’d been dragged through every rest stop between here and Jersey—eyes swollen, hair matted, the ghost of a fast-food napkin still stuck to her jacket.

She threw her backpack on the ground, glared at me, her eyes red like a rabbit’s.

The thud of her bag made the dog bark next door. She fixed me with a look that could curdle milk, her resentment rolling off her in waves.

“Are you happy now?” she gritted her teeth. “Luckily Dad gave me three hundred bucks. I took a Greyhound for 36 hours to get home. Thirty-six hours! My legs are swollen, the bus smelled like a garbage dump. You made me suffer so much—are you satisfied?”

She wiped at her nose, voice quivering, the injustice of it all burning through her tears. I resisted the urge to go to her, to comfort her, to fix everything as I always had.

I raised my eyebrows. “Wow, your dad is so generous—couldn’t even get you a sleeper ticket.”

My words dripped with sarcasm, but I couldn’t help it. After years of being the only safety net, it felt good to point out his failures, even if only to myself.

“Shut up!” She kicked her backpack. “Dad did his best. He has to support a family. Unlike you—just watching me suffer! At least Dad cares about me. You’re just a heartless, vicious woman!”

She spat the words out, her voice cracking. I caught the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, the sense that maybe, just maybe, she was starting to see the cracks in her father’s armor.

She looked at me, her eyes full of venom. “You still expect me to take care of you when you’re old? How dare you treat me like this?”

The promise hung in the air, an empty threat I’d heard before. I met her gaze, unflinching, unwilling to bargain with my own future.

I waved my hand. “Don’t worry, kid. I’ll pick out a nice nursing home with bingo nights. You won’t have to lift a finger.”

She scowled, as if she was about to pounce. “Not relying on me for old age? Fine! You said it. Just you wait!”

She hurled the words over her shoulder as she stormed to her room, the sound of her door slamming reverberating through the house. I let out a long breath, relief and sadness mingling in my chest.

She dragged her backpack and rushed into her room, slamming the door so hard it shook the house.

The pictures rattled on the wall, the dog next door barked again, and the silence that followed felt heavier than any argument we’d ever had.