Not abandoning Dad.
Not seeking revenge.
It meant separating his care from my mother’s control.
It meant making sure the work was visible, shared, and no longer enforced through guilt.
It meant refusing to rush over whenever Mom snapped her fingers while still protecting the person who genuinely needed help.
My phone lit up again.
I expected another demand from Mom or a message from Chelsea accusing me of being selfish.
Instead, the name on the screen was Aunt Colleen.
Colleen was Dad’s younger sister.
She was quiet at family gatherings and usually left before arguments began.
She had spent years watching Mom control conversations with a lowered gaze and a tight smile, but she almost never challenged her directly.
Her message contained only three short sentences.
“Come by tomorrow. There’s a box of your dad’s things you need to see. Please. Just you.”
I read it once.
