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Every dresser drawer had been pulled out and emptied. No more clothes hung in his closet, aside from his old dress uniform.
I turned back to face Mom, my silent question taking up space between us. It suffocated me, sucking all the air from the room, from my lungs.
When she wouldn’t meet my eyes, I knew. But I still hoped for something different. “Is he taking a different room?”
Mom slowly shook her head.
“Then what?” I asked, needing to hear her say it.
Her chest heaved with a heavy breath. “He’s going to live at the center.”
I crumbled to his freshly made bed.At the center, she’d said. Like she wasn’t moving him to an institution. A home.
That brochure sat in my backpack, heavier than ever. Despite the weight of Dad’s care, I’d never taken it out. Never suggested it to Mom. I never imagined she could make this kind of decision without even consulting me.
“April, honey, I—”
I held up my hand, unable to take another blow. “Stop.”
She fell silent, standing just feet away from me.
My heart could hardly beat through each pulse of my shattered heart.
After the room stop spinning, I looked up at her, seeing her worry lines, the wrinkles, the circles under her eyes clearer than ever. “How could you do this without telling me?”
“Because I knew you’d talk me out of it.” She wasn’t sad, apologetic. Only honest.
“We can’t do this to him,” I breathed. “After everything he’s sacrificed for us?”
“We should have done it sooner.”
I shook my head, embers of anger blooming in my chest. “How could you say that?”
“Because he was going to hurt you,” Mom said, her voice trembling. “He hurt Diego. He ran away! It’s not safe to have him here without support.”
“Mom—” I began to argue, but she shook her head.
“You need to hear me. All of what I have to say.”
I wanted to argue, but I clenched my jaw to hold it in.
“Your father gave so much for this family, this country.” Her voice choked up. “But we’ve been sacrificing for him for three years. We’ve taken classes and gotten help, and even with all that information and practice, what we’re doingisn’t good enough. And if your father knew, before his accident, that he’d put you and your boyfriend at risk, he would want me to make this decision. I know he would. This isn’t a good situation. Not for him, and not for us either.”
Emotion flowed through my eyes and slipped down my cheeks. I shook my head, wanting to argue with her. Wanting to find a way to beg for him to stay.
But the truth hurt just as much.
Our lives would be so mucheasierwithout having to worry about the next time he’d fly off the handle or leave without us knowing.
It felt wrong to admit that. Wrong to accept it. “Dad’s leaving?” My voice shattered on the words.
Mom closed the distance between us, and this time, I didn’t shy away. I sobbed into her chest as she smoothed the hair at the back of my neck. “Your father deserves to be somewhere that knows how to care for him, with people who won’t grow to resent him.”
A sob left my throat at the gut punch of the truth. I was mad at Dad for what he’d done to Diego. What I’d lost as a result. It wasn’t Dad’s fault that he had an injury, a disability that affected his behavior. But I was angry. Devastated. I didn’t want to be mad at Dad for what I’d lost the last three years, but I could feel it in the pit of my stomach like a poison. “I feel soguilty,” I admitted. “Like we failed him.”
She took my face in her hands, my tears soaking her fingers. “Your dad will always be your dad. He’ll always be my husband. Whether he lives under this roof or not. And you can love him without giving up all of yourself.”
The problem was, I didn’t know how.
