My own son made me scrub his bathroom, then told me to leave before dinner because he was embarrassed to let his boss meet me. I was sixty-one years old, had raised Wade alone since he was a baby, and had given him and his wife nearly $40,000 toward the very house where I was now on my knees cleaning their toilet.

Over the next two weeks, the consequences of that Thursday night crashed down upon Wade and Fallon’s life like a tidal wave.

Because Arthur Peterson initiated an immediate corporate audit, Apex BioTech uncovered several minor expense account discrepancies Wade had submitted over the previous year to fund lavish dinners with Fallon—dinners he had claimed were for "client relations." He was officially terminated for cause, forfeiting his severance package and his corporate health insurance.

Without Wade's executive salary, they were completely unable to afford the heavy mortgage on their oversized suburban home.

On a rainy Tuesday afternoon three weeks after the gala, I was sitting in my living room reading a book while Robert worked in his garden.

A quiet knock came at the front door.

I opened it to find Wade standing on the porch.

He looked nothing like the polished corporate climber who had loosened his tie while throwing me out of his kitchen. He was wearing faded jeans, an old hoodie, and looked as though he hadn't slept in days. He was thinner, his eyes red-rimmed and hollow.

"Mom," he said, his voice trembling in the cool breeze.

I stood in the doorway, looking at him. "Hello, Wade."

"Can I... can I please talk to you for five minutes?" he begged, clutching his arms around himself. "Please."

I stepped aside, opening the door wider. "Come in."

He walked into our warm, simple living room, looking around nervously. He saw Robert's worn Volvo key sitting on the entryway table, and he flinched, visibly ashamed of how he had once looked down on this house.

Wade sat on the edge of the sofa, his hands shaking violently on his knees.

"Fallon left me," Wade whispered, tears welling in his eyes and spilling down his cheeks. "She moved back in with her parents four days ago. When the house went into foreclosure process and I couldn't get another executive job... she said I wasn't the man she married."

I sat in the armchair across from him, keeping my hands folded in my lap. "I'm sorry to hear your marriage is struggling, Wade."

"She didn't love me, Mom," Wade sobbed, putting his head in his hands. "She only loved the lifestyle I was trying to give her. And I... I pushed away the only person in the world who ever loved me unconditionally."

He looked up at me, his face ruined by grief and genuine remorse.

"I was so blind, Mom," Wade cried. "I was so obsessed with fitting into a world of rich, powerful people that I became a monster to you. I looked at Robert and assumed he was nobody. I looked at you and forgot everything you did for me. I made you clean my bathroom... God, Mom, I made you kneel on the floor..."