She nodded. « I hadn’t finished folding everything. »
I sat back. « Whose laundry? »
She gave me a look that answered the question.
Scott’s. Megan’s. The kids’.
I felt anger rise immediately.
Three weeks earlier, moving in with Scott had sounded almost generous.
Mom had lived alone since Dad died five years ago.
She still drove.
Still met friends for lunch.
Still handled her own groceries and appointments.