saying my name in different tones.
Dad.
Dad, stop.
Dad, please.
Dad, you’re making this ugly.
I finally turned in the hallway.
“No,” I said. “You made it ugly. I am making it clear.”
That night, I did not sleep in the storage room.
I also did not sleep in my bedroom.
I sat in the recliner in the living room with my medication schedule on the side table and Patricia’s photo on my lap.
Duke came over around midnight and rested his head near my feet.
I scratched behind his ear because none of this was his fault.
Around 1:13 a.m., Ryan came into the living room.
He looked smaller than he had in the hallway.
“I didn’t think you’d care about the room that much,” he said.
That was when I understood the depth of the problem.
He still thought the bedroom was the issue.
“It
