Chapter 1
After I handed my son Silas Reed the entire penthouse so he could have a proper wedding home, I ended up living in the storage room for ten years.
Back when he got married, he'd stood in front of me, crying like the world was ending.
"Mom, you raised me all by yourself," he said. "I can't make you spend your retirement money on my place. But I just can't bring Katherine to consummate our marriage in some crappy rental.
"Please, just one night in the penthouse. We'll move out right after the wedding. I swear."
Silas was always the sensible one, so I didn't hesitate. I moved straight into the storage room.
What I didn't expect was that "one night" would stretch into a full decade. He never mentioned moving again.
The storage room was cold and damp. My body got worse each year, red patches spreading across my skin.
By the time the doctor diagnosed me with rheumatism, the pain kept me up every night. I finally decided I'd had enough. I grabbed my bedding and went upstairs.
But the moment my daughter-in-law Katherine saw me, she practically shoved me out the door.
She said, "Mom, we've been living here for years. We're used to it. And now you pull something like this? What are the neighbors supposed to think? You trying to embarrass us?"
Silas looked just as annoyed.
He said, "What kind of grandma are you? Henry's just a little kid. Where do you expect us to take him, some cheap rental? Mom, you don't have many years left anyway. Can't you just hang in there?"
I laughed, picked up my blanket, walked out, and called the local TV station.
"I'm Celeste Reed," I said. "I want to report my son and my daughter-in-law. Elder abuse. Property seizure."
*****
The moment I hung up, I exhaled for what felt like the first time in years.
All I had to do now was wait. With the media involved, justice would finally find its way to me.
But in the following days, trash started showing up outside the storage room for no reason.
I'd throw out one bag, and by the next morning, three or four new ones would appear.
Roaches crawled everywhere. Living there became unbearable.
I knew exactly whose handiwork it was. Still, I didn't confront them.
Once the news aired, they'd slink away on their own.
A few days later, after work, I was back in the storage room applying ointment.
The red patches had gotten itchier, the skin on my body scratched raw. If I didn't get out soon, I wasn't sure I'd survive it.
Just as I opened the bottle, Silas stormed in with Katherine.
He didn't even ask what was wrong. Didn't spare one second of concern.
Instead, he kicked over the little table holding my medicine. "Mom, did you really call the TV station?! Are you outta your mind? You want the whole world to know about some tiny family spat?
"I told you I'm up for a promotion. One slip-up and it's over. Dad died young, fine, that was fate. But now you want to drag me down with you?"
Katherine shook her head like she was the injured party.
"Celeste, you really crossed the line," she said. "If Silas's old classmate didn't work at the station and stop the broadcast, what were we supposed to do?
"You know what it feels like to be judged. Your husband died early, remember? You, of all people, should know family shame stays in the family."
They glared at me, pointing fingers, voices sharp and endless.
Their mouths kept opening and closing, and suddenly the scene overlapped with memories I'd tried to bury.
Silas was only two when my husband died.
From then on, I worked days, worked nights, worked myself half to death just to get him through school.
When he finally graduated and found a job, I thought life might finally ease up.
But on the day of his wedding, he kicked me out of my own home.
Now I finally understand why he'd been so attentive in the weeks leading up to the ceremony.
The daily rides after work. The sudden massages. The home-cooked meals he'd never lifted a finger to make before.
I'd thought my boy had finally grown up, finally learned what it meant to care for his mother. Turned out, all of it was just to butter me up before shoving me into a storage room.