My son forgot to hang up, and I heard him call me a burden.
So while he and his wife were smiling their way through Italy and France, planning a future that already included my house, I quietly sold the £875,000 home his father and I spent thirty-two years paying off, packed everything without a word, and came back just in time to watch his key stop working in my front door.
The first thing I noticed was not his face.
It was the sound of metal scraping against metal.
Daniel had always been impatient with locks, drawers, traffic lights, queues, anything that suggested the world might not move when he wanted it to.
