At Sunday’s barbecue, my son threw my steak onto the ground and said, “Want meat? Go chew it at the nursing home, you useless old woman!” The next day, I packed my bags and sold the house. My phone rang 28 times. He begged for forgiveness, but...

On a cold afternoon in mid-January, a single letter arrived in my mailbox.

The envelope had no return address, but I recognized Cedric’s messy, rushed handwriting instantly.

I sat at my oak table, poured a glass of warm tea, and opened the envelope with a silver letter opener.

Inside was a single sheet of lined notebook paper:

Mom,

I’m writing this because Mr. Henderson told my lawyer that I can’t call your phone or come to your building.

I’m working at the FedEx hub now. Night shifts. My back hurts every day. Jessica got a job as a receptionist at a dental office. We’re paying eight hundred dollars a month for the kids’ daycare and our apartment smells like old radiator steam.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry about the barbecue. I’m sorry about the golf clubs. I’m sorry about the way we acted when we lived in your house.

I thought you’d always be there to fix things when I messed up. I thought that’s what mothers were supposed to do.

I know you won’t give me money. But can I come over for coffee sometime? Just to talk?

Cedric.

I read the letter twice.

I looked at the neat black ink on the blue lined paper. I looked at the word sorry, written twice, smaller than the rest of the text.

Ten years ago, six years ago, even one year ago, I would have picked up my keys, gotten into my car, driven to his apartment, paid his rent, and brought him groceries.

I would have told him that everything was going to be okay, and I would have taken his burdens back onto my own tired shoulders.

I took a deep breath, placed the letter on the table, and pulled out a clean sheet of stationary and a black pen.

I wrote five lines:

Cedric,

I accept your apology.

Learning to stand on your own feet is the hardest work a man can do, but it is the work you should have started twenty years ago. I am glad you have a job. I am glad Jessica is working.

We will not be meeting for coffee. The boundaries I have set are permanent.

I am not your safety net anymore, Cedric. I am your mother who has retired.

Take care of your children.

Tatum.