Two days afterward, I discovered she’d purchased a Surface Pro, an iPad, and headphones for her mother.
I canceled their chalet booking.
That evening, my son phoned, demanding, “Mom, what did you do?!”
The message reached me Wednesday morning as I sat at my kitchen table in Brockville, watching ice gather along the edges of the St. Lawrence River beyond my frosted window. I had barely wrapped my hands around a cup of Earl Grey when my phone illuminated the placemat.
I read the message twice.
Rosalind, Carter and I won’t be doing Christmas gifts for you this year. Money has been really strained lately.
There was no greeting or gentle introduction. Just my first name, followed by words that felt like someone quietly shutting a door in my face.
Carter and Yvette had been married four years. Both earned steady incomes. My son managed projects for an Ottawa engineering company, while Yvette worked as a dental hygienist at a busy nearby practice.
They owned a four-bedroom detached home in a desirable West End neighborhood, drove matching Subarus, and enjoyed two vacations annually.
Their mortgage was affordable. I knew because Carter and I had reviewed every figure together when they purchased the property, sitting at this same table with his laptop between us.
Of course, financial difficulties were possible. Circumstances change unexpectedly, and I genuinely wanted to be understanding.
Still, the message’s coldness troubled me more than the absence of presents.
She had addressed me as Rosalind rather than Mom, making the announcement sound like the cancellation of an ordinary appointment.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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