“I’ve been doing well. You know. Saving up.”

I opened my purse. I took out the credit report. Six pages, folded in thirds. I put it on her glass coffee table, right on top of the magazine.

“Mama, Capital One called me. Then I pulled my credit report.”

Her smile didn’t drop. It froze. There’s a difference.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Six cards, Mama. All in my name. All at this address. $87,000.”

She looked at the report. She didn’t pick it up. She looked at it the way you look at something you hoped would stay buried.

“My credit score was 780. It’s 419 now. Kevin and I were buying a condo. We can’t anymore.”

She set her coffee down. She straightened her bathrobe. And then she said it.

“You owe me, Loretta. I raised you by myself. Your daddy left when you were six and I worked two jobs and I fed you and clothed you and kept the lights on. Everything I spent, you owed me already.”

I stared at her. I think my mouth was open. I honestly don’t remember.

“You think raising your own child is a debt, Mama?”

“I think you could have helped me more. I asked you for money twice and both times you said you couldn’t.”

“I couldn’t. I was raising Kevin alone.”

“And I raised YOU alone. So we’re even.”

“We’re not even. We’re $87,000 apart.”

She picked up her coffee. She took a sip. She looked at the Samsung.

I stood up. I walked to the driveway. I sat in my car. I called the Tulsa Police Department’s non-emergency line. I filed a report. Case number and everything.

I filed a police report on my own mother from her driveway while she was inside watching HGTV on a TV she bought with my name.

Detective Marsh came to see me the following Tuesday. He was patient.

He took copies of everything. He said cases like this take time but the documentation was clear.

He also said something I didn’t expect. “Ma’am, this is the third case I’ve worked this year where the perpetrator was a parent. It’s more common than people think.”