Who’s going to take care of us?

Mark stared at the wall.

When he answered, his voice was gentle.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

Patricia inhaled sharply.

He continued.

“You always said I could.”

She hung up.

Mark sat motionless.

I touched his hand.

He whispered, “That felt terrible.”

“I know.”

“I thought it would feel good.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve imagined saying no to them a thousand times.”

I squeezed his hand.

“Boundaries rarely feel as satisfying as revenge fantasies.”

He looked at me.

“Is that from somewhere?”

“No. I’m extremely wise.”

That earned me the tiniest smile.

Then his phone rang.

Susan.

He ignored it.

Rebecca.

Ignored.

Susan again.

Eventually he turned the phone off.

That evening, someone knocked on our door.

My father-in-law stood on the porch.

Alone.

Mark opened it.

For a few seconds, father and son simply looked at each other.

Then my father-in-law said, “Can I come in?”

We sat in the living room among boxes.

He stared at them as though they were evidence of a crime.

“You really sold everything.”

“The furniture’s coming with us,” I said.

Neither man laughed.

My father-in-law leaned forward.

“Your mother is devastated.”

Mark nodded.

“I know.”

“She thinks she’s lost you.”

“She hasn’t.”

“Moving fourteen hundred miles feels like losing you.”

Mark’s expression hardened.

“Apparently Susan and Rebecca aren’t lost.”

His father flinched.

“That isn’t fair.”

“Isn’t it?”

“They call.”

“So will I.”

“They visit.”

“So will I.”

“They have families and responsibilities.”

“So do I.”

His father looked toward me, then away.

“Your mother didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I believe that.”

That surprised him.

Mark continued.

“I actually think that’s part of the problem.”

“What does that mean?”

“She didn’t think it would hurt.”

His father looked down.

Mark leaned forward.