My parents have more occasions than I can recall. Giving in is simply easier. It is late by the time I get home. There was a freeway accident, and it took forever to get back across town. It was too late to call Jamie. The dinner on the stove is cold, but I'm too tired to heat it up. Instead, I pull out a mishmash of snacks fit for Jeremiah: cucumber, carrot sticks, water, and a banana. Then I take them back to my room and snack while watching Netflix.
I unintentionally recall my father. This is the longest we've ever gone without seeing him. I can't help but think of him carrying me on his shoulders as we walked through town, or staying up late with me to study for a test. My chest tightens, a combination of rage and grief. Why does it hurt so much because this was our choice, our decis
