Not my mother’s decision to dismiss what he told her.
The disaster was the possibility that the situation might leave the room and become real somewhere beyond the family.
“It already is one,” I said.
My sister folded her arms.
“So what, you’re going to have my son arrested?”
Again, the conversation was being dragged toward a future consequence for her child while mine was still beside me needing care.
I refused to follow her there.
“Right now, I’m taking care of mine.”
That answer changed something.
They had been ready to argue with accusations.
They had been ready to argue with anger.
They had been ready to argue with anything that gave them a chance to put me on trial instead.
But there was very little to debate in the sentence I had given them.
