At 2:27 a.m., my dad called unexpectedly, “Honey… I’m at the police station. Your sister-in-law be:at me with a baseball bat. But she told the police I attacked her because I’m mentally ill. Your brother just stood by and let it happen!” When I walked in, the officer turned pale and stammered, “Ma’am, I… I…”

A few books.

My mother’s old watch.

Dad’s favorite coffee mug.

Then I helped him into the passenger seat of my car.

He looked lighter than he had in months.

We left Columbus and drove east toward a quiet coastal town in North Carolina, where he could recover far away from the people who had treated him like an account waiting to be emptied.