I didn't come back here to confront my past, but for some reason, that seems to be all I'm doing lately.
As I walk back into Dad's hospital room, my phone starts ringing. I grab it off the chair, groaning whenMom Callingflashes across the screen.
I answer with zero enthusiasm. "Yeah?"
Dad grunts as I adjust his pillows, shifting beneath my touch.
"When are you heading home?" Mom asks, her tone already teetering on impatient.
I exhale sharply. "I don't know, Mom. I'm at the hospital with Dad. You know, your husband? The man you claim to love but haven't once asked about?"
"Elowen," Dad warns, his voice scratchy.
Mom either doesn't hear or doesn't care. "I'm hungry," she whines.
I still, staring down at Dad, the man who worked his whole life to provide for this family, the man lying helpless in a hospital bed while his wife refuses to set foot outside the house for him. And something inside me just... snaps.
"Then get in your car and go to the damn grocery store."
Mom huffs into the phone. "Pick up a rotisserie chicken and some potato salad. Jasper and Brooks will be here for dinner, too."
I pull the phone away from my ear, gripping it so tight my fingers shake. She's acting like this is just another day. Like nothing is wrong. Like Dad isn't fighting to stay alive.
I lift the phone back to my ear, my voice dangerously low. "Mom. You need to come here. You need to see him."
Silence.
Then, a breath. A ragged, shallow breath. "I can't."
I squeeze my eyes shut, my body vibrating with anger. "Why not? Why can't you? I got on a freaking flight and came home. He's your husband. Why can't you drive fifteen minutes up the road?"
More silence. Then, a shaky whisper, "I don't know."
"You don't know?" I ask, raw.
Then, small as a surrender, she whispers, "I don't know how to leave."
Something in her voice makes me pause.
But I'm too angry, too frustrated, too hurt to stop now.
"You're acting like it's you in this hospital bed," I hiss. "Like you're the one fighting for your life. It's Dad, Mom. Not you. And you're too selfish to sit by his side."
Dad closes his eyes, his fingers twitching on the blanket. "Ellie Girl, that's enough."
But it's not enough.
Because for the past few years, everyone's been pretending Mom is just... like this.That her retreat from the world was inevitable. That she faded away like some unpreventable force of nature.
But that's a lie. She chose this.
"You didn't even ask how he was doing," I say into the phone.
"I knew you'd tell me," she replies.
I let out a sharp laugh, a bitter sound that burns my throat. "That's your excuse? That's your defense? That I would tell you? I shouldn't have to, Mom! You should be here!"
I press my fingers to my temple, trying to control the rage clawing up my throat.
