He carried me to the front door. I wrapped my arms around his neck and looked up at him. I wasn’t on death’s doorstep yet. Some weeks were better than others. And I couldhave walked. But why take this from him? Or argue, when he would’ve insisted anyway?
And there was something so beautiful about it. Humbling. The endless love of my child. Being taken care of by him. At the same time, guilt pressed against my ribs. This was supposed to be my job. Not his. The roles had flipped, unfair and irreversible.
Brian jogged ahead and pulled the front door open. “Here, let me take her,” he said, reaching for me.
But Dylan ignored him. He moved past him without a word, brushing him aside as he carried me through the doorway. Brian stood there like someone who had been left waiting at a restaurant after his date never showed up.
Dylan pushed the door closed with his foot and carried me down the hallway to my bedroom on the first floor. It resembled a full nursing room by now. Hospital bed, pill bottles littering every surface, and a TV mounted on the wall.
He lowered me gently onto the bed and adjusted the pillow behind my back.
When he turned toward the nightstand to grab the TV remote, my hand reached for his.
None of this is your dad’s fault, I mouthed, hoping Dylan would understand.
The tension between the two had been going on for a long time. Dylan blamed him for everything the way teenagers do when the weight gets too heavy and the tools to carry it aren’t there yet. Blaming a loved one was easier.
Dylan looked at me like he wanted to tell me something. His jaw tightened for a moment, and he turned serious.
But then he smiled.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “You’re right. I’ll talk to the therapist again. It’ll get better.”
My hand lifted to my heart. Then turned toward him in a small, familiar motion. Reassurance. Love.
His eyes stayed on me, searching.
So I pointed toward his dad out there somewhere, then back to him. After that, I lifted my arm and bent it, holding the pose for a second. A strong arm. Just long enough to make the point about strength.
Dylan had more than enough of it. So did Brian.
He looked down for a second, jaw tightening. When he looked back up, his eyes told me he got it.
“You know,” Dylan said, “if there’s any strength in me, I didn’t get it from him. I got it from Grandma and you.”
My lips curved into a soft smile. One shoulder lifted in a small, playful shrug. I tipped my head, eyes warm, agreeing without words.
Grandma.
That woman was something else.
Then the worry crept back in. It always did. About Dylan. About Brian. Their relationship.
Dylan seemed to notice it right away. “I’ll see if Dad wants to watch the game with me tonight.”
The thought of them spending time together warmed my heart. My shoulders sank into the pillow.
I nodded slowly as I lifted my hand, palm up, then settled it against my heart.
“Glad that makes you happy,” Dylan said. “But you need to rest now.”
The door flew open.
“Moooom!” Ethan and Lila shouted together.
Lila rushed in first. “Can we watch a movie with you?”
Ethan launched himself onto the bed, all knees and wild energy. My fingers gripped the sheets as pain sparked sharply and suddenly. “Get off!” Dylan snapped, his patience gone in seconds.
