Over the next two years, I stopped visiting home.
Not because of some blowout or lingering resentment. Not even because I was running from anything. It was simpler than that.
During my first week living with Noah and William, I brought Will with me to check on my parents. I just wanted to see how they were holding up, if they needed anything.
To my surprise, Mom wasn’t in bed, lost in grief like before. She was up. She was moving. And apparently, planning to return to work.
That should’ve been a relief—it was—but it stung a little too. No one had told me. I’d called earlier that week to ask how things were going. Not once did they mention she was on her feet again, making plans, living life.
When we arrived, Mom was happy to see us. Well—William. She hugged him tight, spun him around,
