“You made a choice,” I corrected him firmly. “You chose yourself, twelve years ago. You chose your comfort, your freedom, and your lack of responsibility. And I made a choice too. I chose my son. I chose to be strong. I chose to build a life so full and flawless that there is absolutely no room in it for your baggage.”

I stepped back, preparing to close the heavy wooden door.

“I’m not giving you a kidney. I wouldn’t give you a band-aid if you were bleeding on my front steps. You wanted a life free of massive responsibilities? Well, congratulations. You’re completely free. Now get off my porch before I call the police for trespassing.”

“You’re a monster!” he yelled, his true, nasty colors finally flashing through the sickly veneer. “You’re going to let me die!”

“Karma’s not a monster,” I replied evenly. “She’s just a mirror. Have a nice life, however long that is.”

I slammed the door in his face. I engaged the deadbolt. I stood in my hallway for a long moment, listening to him curse, listening to his footsteps finally shuffle down my front walk, and listening to his car engine start and fade away down the street.

My heart was beating fast, but not from fear. It was beating with absolute, roaring triumph.

I walked into the living room and looked at the framed photos on the mantle. Me and my son at the Grand Canyon. Me and my son at his science fair. Me and my son, smiling, radiant, and whole.

I still have two kidneys. I have a brilliant, wonderful son. And I have the absolute satisfaction of knowing that the trash I took out twelve years ago finally realized how warm and bright the house was, right as he was locked out in the cold forever.