I picked my husband over my own mother. Five years later he cleaned out our bank account, and by the time I went to say sorry to her, she was already dead.

Let me back up, because I need to say it out loud finally.

Her name was Carol. My mom. She had this little white house with a red door and tomatoes out back every single summer.

She’d hand them to you in a grocery bag and tell you to eat more vegetables. That was her. Pushy, loud, always in your business. And she could not stand Gary.

I thought it was just a mom thing. You know how they get. But it wasn’t a feeling with her. She had something specific. She called me one night, real quiet, not her usual voice, and she said, “He’s hiding money, Diane. I’ve seen it.” I asked her what she meant and she said she’d seen statements, a second account, numbers that didn’t add up. She wanted me to look.

And I didn’t. I got mad instead. Because Gary was sitting right there next to me on the couch making a face like, here we go again. So I defended him. I told her, “Stop causing problems, Mom.” I told her she was the one with the issue, not us. I actually said that. To my mother.

She tried a few more times. Texts. A voicemail I deleted without listening to the whole thing. Gary would shake his head and say, “She just can’t stand that you’re happy.” And I believed him. God help me, I believed the man on the couch over the woman who raised me. I stopped picking up. After a while she stopped calling. I told myself she finally got the message.

That was five years ago.

Here’s the part where I have to tell on myself. I didn’t miss her on purpose. I just let the days pile up.

A birthday went by and I figured she should call first. Then a Christmas. Then it was just normal that we didn’t talk, and Gary never once said maybe you should reach out. Of course he didn’t.