She stepped out into the cold evening.
I did not drive away right away.
I sat there with both hands on the wheel, crying so hard I could barely breathe.
Then my phone buzzed.
It was Mr. Gideon.
His message said:
“Your chicken is overcooked. Come home before I am forced to eat it.”
I laughed through the tears.
Then I drove home.
Home.
That word still startled me.
For the next few months, everything changed and nothing changed.
Elowen stayed at the family housing center.
Sylas disappeared for eleven days, came back with apologies, left again when he learned apologies did not erase curfew.
Then he came back once more.
This time, Elowen told him to attend the parenting class required by the center if he wanted visitation in the family room.
He called it humiliating.
She called it Tuesday.
My mother moved into a smaller apartment after finally admitting her retirement accounts were nearly empty.
